#quatschfic

[allbeendonebefore]

Messy Waters

Bert was entirely grateful that Ben’s magic was a different set and training than his. While his focused more on agriculture and fertility of the earth Ben’s dealt with water - and all that lived in it.

Water magic was generally something Bert had tried once, decided he didn’t like it and went back to interacting with the cows.

At this very moment however, he was greatly appreciative that his new pardner for life was someone who could look at a raging river, frown, and ask Bert if perhaps it was ‘out of season for the spring run off’.

Bert sadly had responded, yes. It was too late for spring run off and he had no friggen clue as to why the river happened to be roiling around uncharacteristically. Ben had informed Bert that he should let the cows graze, keep them away from the water, and generally keep close together while he went to sort it out. He then added thoughtfully that he was not sure how long it would take, before giving Bert a chuck on the shoulder and wandering down to the water to look at it thoughtfully.

[quatschmachen]

It wasn’t that he didn’t like touch, it was just that he couldn’t ask for it. No one had taught him any better. Asking was weakness, so Bert never asked. Not directly.

Between them, the words were always silences. The space between them, once a large gap, closing with subtle shifts, inch to inch, thigh to thigh, until, boldly, a leg swung over.

Ben knew the game well, he had been playing them before the other had existed, the dance of need, the silent cues. For a man that never shut up, Ben was capable of reading the silent body language of the other like a pulp fiction from the Newfoundland Herald. Bert was like a neglected cat, starving for attention, starving for touch, but if you moved too fast, he’d be gone. So Ben simply continued his story about the great bonfire of Snowmageddon, click clacking away on the blanket, the needles their own rhythm. By the time Bert had managed to fully settle both legs across the thighs, Ben’s right foot had begun to fall asleep. Twas no mind. The other mans pride, slowly caving from need, was one he knew not to tease with too much, not now, not in private. It wasn’t like he needed to go anywhere fast.

When you are really clingy and needy but don't want to LOOK like you're clingy and needy

[quatschmachen]

Bitchumen

A nice heartwarming sort of xmas fic. Phone call takes place in 2000, the xmas in 1999.

Edward rants to someone about something.

XXX “Right, like you can actually understand what’s going on.” The sarcasm dripped thick like bitumen from Edward’s tongue, the sticky anger clinging to every surface.“You treating me with the polite decency of a stranger doesn’t actually make you a good person, Calvin – it doesn’t even make you a friend.”

Blowing a breath out, Edward rubbed his face, his shoulders stuck between wanting to spike up in stiff defense or simply drop down in defeat.

“Which is why you get the couch,” here his arms crossed, brooking no argument, “I don’t even know why you thought it was going to be fine just showing up, months after being an asshole thinking I would even put you up. I just know Edith would have you out on your ass, and honestly you’re lucky you got me when I was even in town. Hold on… Mr. Big Shot, you have enough money to get a fucking hotel room, why the shit am I even considering you to stay here with me? Why the hell am I not throwing you out on your ass?”

Another breath out, and Edward sighed, “No, this won’t do.”

With a slump, he plopped onto the couch, and glanced around his small living room, wondering why the hell he was even practicing this as a conversation. Calvin hadn’t dropped by in months. It wasn’t like he was going to any time soon. The lines had been clearly drawn, and even an entitled oil cowboy wasn’t going to pretend everything hadn’t changed.Apparently the weeks off were just giving him time to go crazy. Usually this would be the time he would jet off to Montreal, but instead he was stuck in his house losing it. He was worried if he showed up on Étienne’s doorstep he would just start crying. Definitely not a thing to do.

His thoughts were disrupted as the telephone began to ring. With a sigh, he rolled off the couch and grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Eddy!” Étienne’s voice rang out through the phone and wrapped around him like a warm hug.

“’Tienne,” Edward breathed out, automatically relaxing, he flomped down into the seat beside the telephone.

“I’ve been calling for weeks and thought you had died,” he joked, but the edge of worry was still there.

“Sort of had.” Edward murmured, “Actually I sort of moved out, I guess. Mac came down in January and I ended up moving north with him and picked up a hitch. Just got off and am laying around at home too dead to do anything.”

“Hitch?”

“Uhm working in the oil patch. Living at camp, pretty much isolated from the world…”

“Surrounded by big burly men? You could have at least sent me a postcard, Eddy,” Étienne teased, but there was an underlying tone Edward had difficulty deciphering, “I was thinking if it was my turn to come pull you out of the swamp of misery.”

“I guess I could have but… to be honest it all sort of just happened?” Edward sighed, “And once I was up in Fort Mac, and then out working, it’s difficult to really communicate. Just work till you drop, then into the camp to exercise or watch porn.”

“What? They actually supply porn?”

“And sometimes even prostitutes, but that’s apparently not truly allowed…” Edward paused, “but unfortunately no prostitutes were of interest to me.”

“How unfortunate. I was up to my eyeballs with inconvenient work,” Étienne paused, “Christmas was about the same as always, Suzette passes along her best wishes. The food was divine, and I ended up losing an arm-wrestling match to Élyse.”

Edward laughed, “What were the stakes?”

“Hmmm, well she got to eat my slice of cake; it was some terrible cake Samuel had made – yes I know, please believe me when I say he made this cake. Truly no real artisan of food would have produced something as terrible as that cake. I think it ostensibly was supposed to be a fruit cake – with a thick layer of chalky marzipan on top. Somehow he managed to over-alcohol a cake while having it be dry at the same time. I was ready to submit it to the Guinness Book of Records…”

“So why was Élyse battling you for your slice?”

“You see, I may have already had a fight or two with Samuel – he has some new boytoy, and he was being so insipid and sickly about it, I may have been ready to fight over any little thing. Élyse figured if I got rid of the slice via arm wrestling it could possibly save Christmas or something. Yadda yadda. Apparently no one seems to enjoy the Christmases when Samuel breaks down in angry tears and yells for an hour – not sure why when I find that sooooooo entertaining.”

“God I wish I was there for that… seeing Samuel’s face as if he was punched when he tries to cry elegantly is so therapeutic…” Edward murmured, “I feel like my Christmas was just me being the crying one.”

“Crying? What happened, Édouard?”

Squiggling in his seat, Edward wondered how much he should tell. A part of him wanted to spill it all, but another part wondered if that would be too much of an inconvenience. How much of his stupid worries did Étienne really want? Closing his eyes, Edward pretended they were in the same room together, maybe even touching, head on Étienne’s shoulder, not necessarily looking at the man, but bodies snuggled up, his hair getting played with. Those small stolen moments of bliss, where the worries got spilled, and he didn’t worry about the consequences.

“Christmas was so awkward; I don’t even know where to begin. The entire time I desperately wished I had gone to yours… it felt like the last time I try to be a functional person among them… hell, I only went because I thought maybe I could improve relations with people… start the new millennium off with some hope about the future.”

It really had been terrible. They had held it at the ranch – Bert’s ranch. Why the hell did he think hanging out with people at the ranch would be a good idea? Surrounded by people you probably should know better, but in reality only held passing pleasantries with. The one bright spot had been Calvin. Calvin who seemed to be best buddies with everyone who arrived, Calvin who smiled brightly at him and argued with him, distracting him from the knot of anxiety he was harbouring over whether he should come out during Christmas or hold off until New Years?

He was attempting small talk with Jo, who was talking at him about how they should go shopping together (did she not do other stuff?), when he overheard Bert loudly say “I personally don’t think those fags should be given the deal.”

It felt like time had slowed down for Edward. No one seemed to pause or care. Orson in fact nodded along with Bert’s rant, sipping his Sprite. Jo continued on with her plans for her next visit, and somewhere nearby Red laughed at a joke Madeline made. As he observed the room to see if there was any reaction to Bert’s loud rant, everyone was involved in their own conversations. Calvin was in the distance deep in conversation with someone he could not quite make out. 

Right, this was not the place. He still wanted turkey dinner, and as he dimly nodded along to Jo, Edward felt small. He had no allies here. Well, that wasn’t true. He was sure Edith supported him, but one in how many? Edward didn’t want to ‘ruin Christmas’.

“And you know how I’ve been thinking about coming out and stuff, but uh, can I just say no? If you were in the room you would understand – seriously Étienne, these people who claim to be my so called family would just as well lynch me as their Christmas bonfire – I dunno they could just douse me in bitumen and light me up human torch Christian martyr style for bringing the faggotry home for Christmas… Soooo I didn’t want to ruin Christmas and make the event awkward for everyone,” Edward related over the phone.

“And then horror of horrors, Orson managed to corner me in what he thinks is jovial conversation. It felt like everything he had to say to me was condescension masked in care and concern – honestly I am not sure how he even manages that. I think he felt like it was his civic duty to carry on a conversation with me. He even reminisced about the temple open house he dragged me to. Ok honestly I went to the open house out of curiosity, to see what sort of cult he’s in, but I didn’t think he would already be reminiscing about something that had literally JUST happened. Temple? Yeah, a Mormon temple just opened up in my city… so it meant I had the pleassssuuure of Orson coming up for the Open House and dragging me along. Stay with me? God no, please ‘Tienne I’m not that insane, what would I do if he snooped and found my big old dildo? Yeah he was staying with some church people since he was volunteering and such.”

“I think I wanted to die when he sat down at the piano – yeah, I didn’t even think Bert ever tuned that thing, but knowing Orson maybe he came extra early to tune it, and began banging out the Christmas carols. Like he’s talented and all, and I don’t mind a round of Jingle Bells, but he really has this creepy 1950s vibe and I wanted to roll my eyes when his eyes started to shine with unshed tears at Away in a Manger and O Holy Night.” Edward twisted the cord around his finger, as he listened to Étienne chuckle. Apparently the tactic was avoid talking about himself and instead rant about goody-two-shoes Orson? “You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with him on a regular basis… mmm? Yeah he is kind, considerate and is literally the guy to volunteer for the worst tasks but there is something about him where he is a little too perfect? Like somehow can’t let my hair down around him type of deal. Which makes him perfect for Lilith – as she always has her hair up, haha.”

Edward had relaxed into his seat, somehow feeling lighter, as the words slipped out, “And then New Years was somehow worse… no I wasn’t at the ranch. I probably should have taken you up on your fireworks show, because the one here is uh Edmonton grade. You know – trying real hard but still somehow failing to miss the mark,” he chuckled at his own joke, not picking up on the strained tension from Étienne over the phone. “Calvin came up, which surprised me since I assumed he would want to be gallivanting about in Calgary, but apparently he wanted to spend it with his best buddy which is me? Somehow? Don’t worry Teddy, you’re still my best friend…” Edwards voice lowered, as he realized what he was about to say, admit. Pause. “So how was your New Years? Aahh why are you yelling – oh you’re saying I didn’t mention why New Years sucked? It’s because it wasn’t with you, darlin’.”

Somehow Edward couldn’t do it. Couldn’t quite bring himself around to admitting he had come out to Calvin. How he had fallen into a depression when he got outright rejected. “Hmm? Well, how else can I put it… while I could have been kissing you and sucking your cock, I instead got to hold Calvin’s hair back as he literally puked in my poinsettias… yes… mmhmm. The poor plant didn’t make it.”

Tangling his finger in the phone cord, Edward found himself relaxing as Étienne told him about his New Years event, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. The other man’s voice soothing him. Trying to be home for Christmas and the New Years - attempt to enter the new millennium as a man of his own place, had been a major mistake.

He should have kept to his original plans of escaping to Montreal, escaping his own clay dirt to mold himself into his own dream man.Sometimes he wondered if he loved Étienne or simply wanted to be Étienne. A complicated mixture of feelings confusing him ever more when it came to that man.

“Visit? I would love to visit… oh wait, you want to come visit me? When? Hmm let me… check my calendar.” Edward sat up, looking around, and then picked up the phone, carefully picking his way into the kitchen, so he could squint at the calendar. His telephone cord ran out though, so he had to do an awkward strain, trying not to unplug the phone, while seeing his own scribbled-in life.

Well… the only thing really was his work shifts. Everything else a blank. “How does this time work? You’re booked up. Alright…” Edward and Étienne haggled over dates, until somehow, it lined up that Edward was going to Montreal. A subtle shift, but as Edward said with some practicality – that’s just how it lined up. As he hung up the phone, he wrote down the date of his trip, feeling better. Now in between work was a small bright spot, one small thing to look forward to.He was not as friendless as he thought, and, perhaps with enough courage, he could finish his New Years story.        

[quatschmachen]

Rainbow

You might not believe it due to my inactivity, but this week is Monmongary week.

Here is my one small contribution following the prompt of Rainbow.

This takes place early 2000s.

XXXX

It was awkward. It was worse than awkward.

It was that tightrope between the past and the future, where he wasn’t sure how to reach out, or understand what was going on. It had been about nine months since Edward had come out, two weeks since Edward emotionally exploded at him, dragged his soul down to the seventh level of hell and left him there with no way out.

He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. He deserved it he knew, he knew, he knew, but why did Edward have to come out and make everything so damn complicated. To make it all worse they were forced into this situation, where running no longer was an option, where instead they were trapped together in the truck.

He may be living in the 7th level of hell, but even he knew that despite everything, a perfect gentleman would pull up and help someone out. He had simply assumed it was the sparkplugs or something. Edward’s sleeves were rolled up, hands black with oil, a smudge on his nose, and his tools out on the ground as he attempted to do the repairs himself. Calvin wasn’t sure how he felt when he realized it was Edward’s truck. A truck he knew, one that had him slowing down before even any conscious thought asked him what he was doing. They were on shaky ground at best, and perhaps this could help build that bridge one spaghetti piece at a time. Swallowing as Edward looked up, his hair damp from sweat, eyes in surprised recognition, Calvin wondered why the hell his heart was beating so nervously. Must be the fear that Edward had discovered an eighth layer of hell to drag him in to.

The whole point of an older truck, Edward tended to argue, is that one is able to fix it. Get it back to running. Except whatever had gone wrong, it had really gone wrong, wrong enough for Edward to take the rag and wipe down his hands and agree to Calvin’s help.

Edward sat beside him, smudge still on his face, purposefully looking out the window, not giving him the time of day.

It was driving Calvin crazy being ignored. He kept shooting glances at Edward, heart somehow pounding in his stomach area, mixing with the acid of guilt.

“Bet you’re not bitching about how I got the latest upgraded truck,” Calvin finally started, his cracking voice breaking the tense silence between them.

Edward’s eyes didn’t even flick towards him. A prickle of irritation ran through Calvin.

“Seeing as I’m towing your piece of shit truck back to the old folks’ home.”

Usually Edward would react to insults to his truck, but nothing.

He couldn’t keep silent. They were far enough out for the radio to be patchy, enough to have it turned off. He began to whistle, trying to fill the silence between them, wanting to get some sort of reaction out of Edward.

Casting another sidelong glance at Edward, taking in his dark tan, (was he working outside?), his more toned body (he had heard rumours that Edward was working up north, but Mac would neither confirm nor deny), the smudge on the cheek (somehow instead of silly, it looked… he didn’t know what he was feeling, better ignore it.)

The sky was getting dark, too early for night, it was the rushing clouds of a storm of some sorts, and Calvin hoped to be getting out of the mountains sooner rather than later. He sped up.

It happened faster than expected, the wind howling, the rain pummelling down onto the cab, barely able to see a foot ahead of them.

“Pull over.” Came the abrupt command. Edward was tense all over.

“’fraid of a bit of rain?”

“I’m worried your speeding ass is going to make my truck a tin of tuna,” came the growl, “pull the fuck over, McCall.”

“We’re fine!” Calvin exclaimed as loud thuds started to occur on the roof of the cab, and baseball sized hail bounced off the windshield. He screamed, swerved, slowed down, and pulled over. Hands shaking, he turned the truck off, attempting to breathe normally. The hail continued to fall, the wind rattling at the windows like some vengeful ghost attempting to come in. “We’re fine,” he muttered, then slightly more hysterical, he looked over to Edward, who had a slightly amused expression, as he squeaked “we’re fine!”

“I’m fucking not,” Edward dryly replied, “I think I’m going to have to get a soft rubber mallet to get the dings out of my truck.”

“Dings?” It was then that Calvin noticed the pockmarks on the front of his truck, and he had the sinking feeling it was not just the front of the truck. Almost as if to add insult to injury, a large hail stone, the size of an ostrich egg, plapped down onto the windshield, making a sickening cracking sound, and Calvin watched in semi horror as small cracks spiderwebbed across the glass.

A soft hysterical laugh escaped Calvin, “Shit shit shit shit, I didn’t get the extended warranty and I’m sure it ended like yesterday, shit shit shit.” His shoulders were heaving, from laughter? Trying to keep in crying? Why the fuck was he having some sort of tiny breakdown in front of Edward when he was trying to project the exact opposite. Be cool, suave, act like a fucking adult – directly above them cracked the loudest thunder, it felt and sounded as if it was a sword slicing through the truck to murder him, and he screamed loudly, tears (stupidly) springing to his eyes. Quickly he looked away from Edward, Edward could not see him crying due to fear from a stupid storm!

He heard a huff behind him, and let out another scream as he felt Edward grab his shoulder, forcefully bringing him into an awkward half hug, trapped by the seatbelt, leaning uncomfortably against the driving stick, head angled strangely against Edward’s shoulder.

“Idiot, you always cried during storms,” Edward’s voice was soft, as Calvin sniffled, some inner damn releasing as the tears began to flood out.

Unclicking his seatbelt, Calvin shifted, as he buried his face into Edward’s shoulder, crying for more than just the storm. Whatever Edward was doing in his hair felt good, some sort of soft petting, as if he was some goddam dog, but he didn’t care damnit, Edward was talking to him, and maybe this storm was the eighth layer of hell, but somehow even though he was dying of embarrassment, he felt lighter.

Just as quickly as it came, the storm passed, and Calvin pulled away from the awkward embrace, rubbing his eyes and attempting to calm down. His skin tingled from where Edward had touched him, and while he should be feeling bruised pride, all he could think about was thank god for the storm.

“Feeling better, champ?” Edward asked, genuine concern in his voice and face.

“Yeah of course,” Calvin couldn’t quite look at him, feeling too embarrassed.

Edward unbuckled his seat belt and slipped out of the truck, doing a full walk around and making sure the damage was mostly minimal.

By the time Edward hopped back in, Calvin had managed to pull himself together.

“Other than your windshield it’s fine. We should be able to drive… Actually… I noticed you’re heading to Calgary, why are you taking me there?”

Calvin shrugged, “Can’t you fix your truck wherever?” a sly smile appeared, “Unless you plan to finally scrap it?”

“Watch it McCall,” Edward growled punching him on the arm.

Yeeping in pain, Calvin teased in return, “I would love to watch it get crushed out of its misery!”

Narrowing his eyes, Edward looked as if he was about to say something, until he said instead, “You owe me a steak dinner.” Edward shifted, head against the rest, but no longer fully turned away from the other man, “I’m gonna take a nap, wake me when we are near food.”

Calvin nearly asked what the hell the steak dinner was for, but shut his mouth. Maybe it was a good thing Edward was willing to spend some more time with him, and maybe if he took Edward to one of his favourite restaurants – the ones specifically used to woo top-tier clients, they could add another strand of spaghetti to their wobbly bridge.

Turning a corner, Calvin smiled as he saw the rainbow spread across the sky, the sun shimmering on the wet mountains. He was going to take that as a good sign.

[quatschmachen]

Hitch Work

Follows Fresh Powder

2000′s. Edward finally visits Mac up north.

Master post

XXXX

Whenever he fell into that in-between miasma, where other options no longer seemed to exist, he usually found himself escaping Edmonton. Usually it was to Montreal, but that option was out now.  So he decided to take Mac up on his offer, an offer that he had often apologetically refused, due to being busy with something or other. But this time Mac somehow made going up to where it was colder, less populated, with a sky full of the dancing lights, more appealing than participating in civil society.

As always, before they even left the city, they had to pull into the Costco to get some essentials.

For Fort McMurray might be the place where most of the money was pulled out of the ground through the sweat and tears of the blue collar worker, but the money shifted south faster than a fart. The big city basics, the stuff the city dweller takes for granted, like Costco, Walmart, dipping out for some reasonably priced provisions…

Mac had to make the six hour journey down for that. He had come with a list. There was the usual on the list – toilet paper, essential food items such as potato chips, mustard pretzels, all the items that were hell to get up north – or if you could it would be twice the price for the inconvenience of lugging it up there. Never mind the desperation to get as much reasonably priced alcohol as possible.

It was almost as an afterthought that Mac led Edward to the aisle with dishes, and wordlessly grabbed a single mug. Edward thought nothing of it, other than Mac obviously needed a new mug.

His hockey bag packed with the essentials, Mac’s truck with all his supplies, Edward felt slightly optimistic.

They had to time it just right, but with a few pitstops, and the black ice which even the winter tires had difficulty navigating, the five hours turned into six. The ride interspersed with their conversation, both of them smoking like chimneys, the country radio that dominated rural Alberta, but not enough to not cut in and out sometimes, the flat prairie farms turning into boreal forest, dominated by the tall frames of the lodgepole pines.  A land carefully cultivated for centuries with a respect to nature, a land which now was being cut up to feed the white man’s economy. Brushing that thought aside, Edward let himself contentedly look at the nature around him.  

As they pulled into Fort McMurray, Edward was interested to see how the place had changed, and how it hadn’t. It was an odd mixture, the place where the money flowed from, the place where the money often did not stay. A place of historic transience, where one’s home was contained in the heart, but physically was far away. Something like he was doing – running away, getting to work. The grief heavy within him had settled like rocks in the bottom of his heart and stomach. A manageable pain, a manageable self hatred.

As they drove up to a relatively new house, Mac got visibly nervous.

Almost shyly, Mac announced he had finally bought a house. “Oh ye knows, I was rentin’ but then the owner wanted ta move right? So I figures, it’s a nice place, might as well just buy.”

As far as Edward knew, Mac had bounced around his own town unable to settle, never bothering too much with property, probably because it was so easy to crash at Edward’s between hitches. Why invest in a place you barely spent any time in, right? Or at least that had been his own pet theory. It was a feeling of shock and surprise then, at this announcement. Surprise because the man hadn’t bothered to hold a housewarming party, or even mention much about it.

Edward was too tired to even ask why his friend was renting in his own town. Mac did things his own way, and sometimes you just had to accept that. Edward had not seen this house before, and the build looked relatively new.

Pulling his hockey bag out of the truck, Edward followed Mac inside. Mac’s arms were full of the shopping, the bags dangling from the elbows, as he huffed from the weight of it. Edward offered to take something, but Mac was determined to bring it all into the house in one go. Edward locked the truck, and after careful instruction from Mac, which involved awkwardly reaching into Mac’s jacket pocket to retrieve the keys, opened the door to the house.

Taking his boots off, Edward glanced into the living room and frowned. It was a rather sparse room.

Mac had moved ahead to lazily dump the bags down in the nearest location, rubbing his arms.

“Mac… do you live in the basement or something?”

“No. I rents that out.”

Edward looked again at the living room. A space with bare wood floor where huddled in a corner sat one lamp, a worn-out bean bag chair covered in duct tape, gaming consoles and a very large television.  There was an overflowing ashtray beside the bean bag, and if he looked hard enough he could see some of the foam peanuts leaking out of the bag.

There was nothing else.

“Where’s your furniture?”

“You blind or wha’? It’s all there.” Mac gestured to the bean bag chair.

“Do you ever have guests?”

“Sometimes – but ye knows holdin’ a kitchen party ye jus’ needs takeout and alcohol.”

Edward made a ‘hmm’ing sound as he shifted his bag. “Well, you can show me where I’m supposed to sleep at least.”

“Sure thing, though now I’m realizing maybe should have got you a blanket or something,” Mac laughed. Edward laughed as well, as he was lead to the guest room.

The laughing stopped.

Before his eyes, was a room yes. In the room? For guests?

In the middle of the floor lay the saddest mattress on the ground. No box spring, no pillow. No duvet.

Simply something that looked like it should have been burnt in the last century.

Attempting to keep his shit together (for Edward knew that while Mac was a competent man, he also needed to be handled in the right way), he asked in a high pitched voice,

“So… am I supposed to sleep in here, or?”

Mac frowned, “Guess it’s not ideal, didn’t really think this through eh?”

Looking at the other man’s profile, Edward let out a breath, “We can make this work, though, I think tonight it might be too late to get me a place to sleep.”

Inwardly he screamed, when we went to Costco you could have said I would need to buy fucking pillows! A duvet! An entire bed! Instead you encouraged me to get more mustard pretzels!!

“Hell we can just share my bed, it’s big enough.”

Raising his eyebrow, and not quite looking at the other man, Edward attempted to joke, “You sure? You might get gay cooties.”

In response Mac slung his arm around Edward’s shoulders and firmly squished him into his warm side, “Chuck, if I’s a gay that would have been apparent years ago. I’s not worried ‘bout that.”

“Years ago?” Edward questioned, peering up at Mac’s amused expression. His internal screaming monologue quelled for the moment.

Giving him a reassuring squeeze, Mac let him go and cryptically replied, “This ain’t a place bustling with women in case ye haven’t noticed.”

“Maaaac… are you saying you’ve been experimenting?” Edward slowly asked, feeling somewhat delighted and surprised.

“Chucky, just cuz I ain’t a big city slicker don’t mean I don’t leave the house and sees people and does stuff, and I’ve realized that I am for sure not going to be worrying about turning homo.”

“Alright then buster… we can drop my stuff in your room and make some food.”

Mac was silent on the way to his room - which unsurprisingly smelt like sweat and something else.

This room had more stuff in it at least, Edward thought. He looked at the bed – simply a mattress on top of a box spring on the floor with what he supposed was the head pushed up against the wall. He knew he should probably count himself lucky that the box spring even existed in this scenario. The bed was messy and unmade, and he could just make out the forms of crushed potato chips amongst the black sheets.

Directly above the bed was a poster of a lady in a bikini, and then on the walls were scattered posters of other ladies, Oilers stuff, and the odd truck poster.

Clothes overflowed from the dresser, balled up tissues propagated on the floor, hiding in the green shag carpet. Edward’s gaze returned to linger to the bed.

“Uh, when was the last time you changed your sheets?”

“Ye change ‘em?”

“…Do you have some like, fresh bedsheets, Mac?”

Mac shrugged, “Maybe? I dunno. Maybe in the cupboard.”

Maybe? Maybe? Was Mac’s plan to share the bed all along? Mac? How the hell did he live like this?!

Edward frowned, attempting to figure out if he cared for the night. He was tired, they both were tired. He had slept in worse locations. He knew when there were times to fight, he also knew when it was time to eat.

“Let’s eat.”

Edward attempted to keep his trepidation at bay. It was as if this house wasn’t actually lived in. Simply a place for Mac to play games and pass out. A house – not a home.

Mac had said kitchen parties but… the stove still had plastic wrap on it. He was not sure what to expect when it came to the cupboards. He opened one and saw an open package of cookies, the plastic tray slightly hanging out of the bag, and on further inspection, only one broken cookie left. Squinting at the bag, Edward realized the cookie had expired over a year ago. The cupboard beside that one was empty.

The next cupboard contained one bowl, one mug, and one plate.

His next step had his foot stick to the floor, his hand fumbling on the next cupboard.

“Oh I calls that the fly trap.”

“What?”

Mac gestured to the sticky patch on the floor, “Keeps meaning to clean it up but ye know, easier to just not step in it.”

“Mac…” Edward sighed, as he opened the next cupboard, and was relieved that it contained some packs of ramen.

He opened a drawer and found it crammed with odd bits of silverware, free floating in the drawer, a divider nowhere in sight. He could discern a sharp knife, a wooden spoon, two forks, a butter knife and three spoons. And what possibly might be a cheese grater buried at the bottom of it all. There also happened to be about six different types of novelty beer openers.  The drawer beneath that contained cedar planks, hot dog buns, a long lighter, a metal spatula, and those tiny condiments you get from take out.

“That’s the barbeque drawer.” Mac offered in explanation.

One of the cupboards under the sink was crammed full of fishing supplies. Edward dearly hoped that the locked metal container did not contain fish bait. He did not open to find out.

With slight trepidation Edward opened the refrigerator.

On the top shelf, was an open can of peaches with a fork stuck into it. It stood in the middle of the top shelf like a sculpture – a sculpture that smelled. In the door was some open juice, pickled radishes, mustard, ketchup, relish and hot sauce. Edward could deal with this, indeed he had dealt with far worse before when it came to mysterious refrigerator contents.

Opening the freezer Edward let out a cry of surprise. Neatly stacked, packaged and dated was various cuts of meat that Mac had hunted.

Is this what he spent all his time doing? Edward mentally grumbled, expend all the energy to make sure you ate the meat in the right order?

Beside the meat was an assortment of frozen dinners crammed around a tub of ice cream, one of them nearly bent in half, and Edward did not want to spend too much thought as to how Mac had managed that.

He opened the door of what he supposed was going to be the pantry. He expected to find at least a potato or something, but instead it was full of neatly arranged video games on the shelves, and a few gaming consoles tucked into a corner. On the floor was a half full box of whippets.

His eyes scanned the pantry still searching and not finding.

There was something missing though. Sure there was a bowl and stuff, but what the hell did Mac cook his food in? Ramen existed, the one mug was not large enough to cook it. Did Mac just eat it raw like some moody teenager?

“Mac. Where’s your pots and pans?” Edward turned to ask the other man, who was leaning against the counter simply staring at him with amusement.

In answer he shifted and in the corner of the counter was a small silver pot. By itself.

Edward had no words, as in a dream like state he crossed the room, deliberately ignoring the sticky bits of the floor, and went to examine this battered little pot.

“Mac… why do you have a pot with no handle?”

“Oh you knows it broke a while back haven’t gots the time to jus’ pop down to the store to get a new one, and its not like I needs it.” He shrugged, “It’s like my bowl too – I just make the noodles innit then I moves it to the counter on the little cork pot pad and eats straight outta it.”

Edward was not quite sure how to describe the sensation he was feeling as he looked at the fully grown man in front of him. How… how did Mac survive? How was this even life? Sure he thought himself as screwed up but Mac seemed to be existing on another level.

“Mac… do you just spend all your money on your truck and video games?”

“Beers, cocaine, darts and the prostitutes too.” He gamely added.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to the store to uh…” Edward frowned, struggling to find words, “Well, to at least get me my own fucking mug.”

At this Mac brightened, “I got you one! It’s in the pile of crap I brought in from Costco. Chuck – Chuck why are you crying!?”

Edward was laughing as well as crying, as he looked up at the other man, “Mac… I think you’re more fucked up than I am. Shit – you’re supposed to be the epitome of the ideal man—well paying job, a house, passably white, heterosexual – and here you are-” at this Edward’s voice had raised in pitch as he held the pot, “using a pot with no handle! YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A FRYING PAN.”

“Don’t need it on the barbeque.”

Edward choked slightly at that response.

“Mac… tomorrow we’re going to Canadian Tire and I swear to god, I may be a fucking mess, but I at least know how to get a pot with a handle on it for you.”

A small smile graced the other man’s lips, “So’s did ya decide what ya wanna eat for dinner?”

“A microwave dinner.”

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll get it made then?”

Edward snorted. “Comfortable where? You don’t even have a kitchen table or chair.”

“Uh,” Mac’s ears turned red, his words apparently escaping him, his hands fumbling slightly with the microwave dinner packaging.

Realizing his tone was probably a little too harsh, Edward attempted to settle against the counter, “I’m fine standing here I guess.”

Mac nodded and stuck the meals into the microwave (which Edward pointedly did not look into, he feared for his life and decided that in this case ignorance was his friend.) For a man of money Mac didn’t have a lot of appliances, hell he didn’t even have a kettle or a toaster.

“What do you usually eat?” he asked, his voice slightly louder than necessary to be heard over the hum of the microwave.

Mac looked slightly ashamed, “Oh takeout, or I just go to my favourite restaurant or pub. I mean it’s not like being home is a place I’m at too much – spend most of my time up at the camps. They feed ye well there. Sometimes its just easier being at work. Don’t need to worry about nothing. Just get the job done.”

Breathing deeply, Edward nodded, “That sounds nice. No need to think, just work.”

“Which is why you’re up here.” Mac grabbed the meals out of the microwave, and they ate their respective meals standing in the kitchen in companionable silence.

Together they unpacked the groceries, Edward already attempting to bring some sort of order to the cupboards. Satisfied that there was some sort of start, he grabbed his toiletries and made his way to the washroom. Flicking on the light, his life flashed before his eyes.

He wasn’t sure where to start first. The dried pee puddles by the toilet, of a man who didn’t care if he missed? (Granted, he had been specifically trained by a VERY grouchy Edith to NEVER EVER make a mess like that.) The ragged shower curtain? The suspicious black mold in the bathtub, or the sink? It was as if Mac was simply a boy in a man’s body, with no one around to teach him about the joys of bleach. As he carefully shuffled into the washroom, mentally informing himself that all he needed to focus upon was getting himself suitable for bed, Edward looked at himself in the mirror splotched with water and tooth paste. His mind whirring to who possibly would be the person to take Mac to the side to teach him the basics of cleaning. Johnny B’y? Freddy? While they were capable men in their own rights, Edward wasn’t entirely sure how close they were to Mac to inform him what a mop was. Johnny B’y was rather outspoken, and Edward felt if he had visited there would be loud words… a thought crossed his mind. A rather unpleasant one.

Mac had mentioned kitchen parties, but the place really did feel unlived in. Sure there was empty beer cans, but there wasn’t any signs that the Atlantic coasters had dropped by. No off-brand screech, none of their specialty favourite foods… – hell he had Johnny B’y stop by for a short visit and he was finding random Purity brand items months later. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that a Newfoundlander would bring food from home with them. There was no evidence of that.  Mac was lying, came his conclusion.

Spitting into the sink, and cupping water to his mouth, Edward swished the toothpaste out, and then cleaned his toothbrush.

Not trusting to leave his toiletries overnight in this washroom, Edward packed them up.  As he went to turn off the light he cringed. Like the other light switches in the house, which he suspected were supposed to be white, this was a dark grey of grime. Things he hadn’t thought about cleaning were dirty – such as the edges of corners where one brushed up. He was fairly certain Mac had never thought about washing a wall. Or perhaps not tossing his dirty coveralls on the floor. Like a little boy with free reign of a house and no mother to nag after him.

Oh god, Edward panicked, am I the mother?

He was glad he had had the two to three beers. No one wanted to be sober entering Mac’s bedroom.

Mac had scrubbed his teeth before, and was already in bed, snoring lightly. Edward decided to keep his thought to himself, and try to sleep himself. As his hand brushed against something in the bed, that was not attached to Mac, and which was not a pillow, Edward concluded, maybe acting as the surrogate mother was not a bad thing.

XXXX

Entering Canadian Tire was like entering a holy cathedral, Edward thought, breathing the tire smell in deeply. Wherever you went Canadian Tire had the same smell, the same atmosphere, the same lighting that wasn’t overbearing, but instead felt like entering a sacred space. Directing Mac to the shopping cart, Edward lead the way to the main aisle which held the string of palettes in the middle of the floor, the first one piled up with boxes of sale Christmas decorations.  Ignoring the temptations, he looked around, torn between kitchen appliances and decent fucking bedding.

He was trying to block last night. Or this morning. Time had ceased to mean anything to him. Dinner had been alright, he was aghast that Mac wanted to use the dishwasher for all two forks. He asked where the liquid detergent was and from the shifty look on Mac’s face he realized that it didn’t exist. Unbidden to his mind was the memory of the bed. The foul smell. The fact that he had found a half eaten kubasa amongst the potato chips. There was even some marijuana hidden under the pillow. And then god, Mac’s snoring. Edward too afraid to move in the bed, in fear his foot would strike a crusty cum sock.

He was tired as hell, but simply being in the Canadian Tire was reviving him. His mind began clicking in place, as he headed to the kitchen appliances, it was the closest to them. Pots and pans gleamed on display, like holy implements of cookery. He stared at them hard, calculating the best costs, seeing what was on sale, what would be the easiest for Mac to maintain.

“You’re getting this set.” Edward pointed to a boxset of copper pots and pans. “And that cast iron skillet.” Edward bent down to lift the heavy boxset, grunting in effort. It was heavier than he thought.

“Chuck, stop.”

“Mac! You need pots with handles on them!” Edward grunted as he crab walked the box towards the shopping cart.

The box was suddenly lifted out of his arms, as Mac rolled his eyes, and easily placed it into the cart. “I’ll get the stuff, you point.”

“Oh.” A soft ‘oh’, a look of consideration, then, “Hmm am I supposed to be your…” Edward leant close to Mac to whisper this conspiratorially, “gay makeover?”

Mac snorted, “No, you’re supposed to help me get my shit together because the last time I was in charge of a home it was made out of animal hide.”

“Right.” Edward nibbled his lip as they navigated the maze of the kitchen area away from the pots and pans to the beverage accessories. “So… No one’s actually shown you how to housekeep?”

“Keep a house?”

“I mean all the nonsense like how to clean, and the types of comforts you don’t realize you need but when you have it you wonder how you lived without it before.”

“Like you know – having the double shower curtain, so the water doesn’t get out.”

“The double what now?”

“You’ll understand that particular one soon enough. I mean why didn’t you even bother to hire a cleaner?”

“No need to. Mess doesn’t bother me, not like anyone else comes to visit.” Mac’s words trailed off and he shot Edward a nervous quick glance as if he realized what he had just said.

Sensing the nervousness, Edward decided to let it slide. If Mac wanted to elaborate later, he could. “Well we need to make sure you get a kettle then. If there’s no tea in sight when the rest of the guys come over you know you’ll be in trouble.” They were standing in front of a selection of them, and he pointed towards a cordless kettle which was on sale.

“You’re right there. No need to be microwaving the mug.” Mac laughed as he grabbed the kettle carefully slotting it in beside the box of pots and pans.

They had moved out of the kitchen appliances to the aisle full of various cleaners. Rows upon rows of choices, each cleaner singing out their own praises in order to tempt the customer. Edward had to debate between sale and what he knew worked. He looked over to Mac, who was staring a little too hard at some Pledge, his brow slightly furrowed. Best not try new things, best stick to what he knew would work.

His hands darted out as he grabbed two different types of the same cleaner, “Do you care about smell?”

“Uh,” Mac was broken out of his reverie, looking at the choices before him. “Whatever you like Chuck.”

“Uh huhhh,” Edward decided to get both, handing the cleaners over to Mac, who neatly slid them into the cart, maximizing the space.

They had reached a section with discounted patio furniture, and Edward paused thoughtfully.

“Chuck it’s not the season for patios.”

“I know but… it’s on sale…” he nibbled his lower lip, and then moved towards a wicker chair with a cushion and sat in it. “Come try.”

Frowning slightly but in an action of trust, Mac sat down in an identical chair.

Wriggling, Edward let his head fall back, “I think this at least beats sitting on a beanbag with the beans falling out.”

“Hey! I’ll have ye know I’ve had that bag since like 1990! I’ve drug it around faithfully for over a decade, it’s my favourite chair!”

“It may be your favourite chair, but do you REALLY want to be playing Call of Duty with me snuggled half on your thigh as we try to share it?”

Narrowing his eyes, Mac stuck his tongue out. “Who says I have a second controller?”

“The one I literally saw in a heap on the floor?”

“Aw shit ye got me there.” Mac stretched out his legs, “I guess we could get one.”

“And that.”

“What?”

Edward was pointing to some sort of wicker loveseat. It was a different stain from the chair, not a matching set.

“Why?”

“So other people can sit their assess down somewhere.” Edward simply replied. He was looking around, wondering where the hell an attendant could be.

“Chucky, trying to find a Canadian Tire employee in the actual goddam store is like tryin’ to get a blow job for free from a hooker, not gonna happen.”  

Except that Edward had sprung up from the seat and was halfway down the aisle, talking animatedly with an attendant, who nodded and disappeared.

Mac had no clue what was happening, until the attendant appeared with a flat dolly to load the patio furniture.

“I’ll have it by the front for when you’re ready to go.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate your help.”

Looking pleased as punch, Edward winked at Mac. “And let’s just say I’ve gotten a few freebies in my past.”

Jaw hanging open, Mac sputtered, and then laughed as he stood up. “Geezus.”  His hands were back on the handle of the shopping cart, “Where to next, Chucky?”

“Uh bedding so I can sleep in a bed without half a pantry in it.” Edward teased.

“Hey kubasa is cured, it can keep.”

“Uh not for like a week in a bed!” Edward walked just fast enough to be outside of any chance of Mac jostling him. He hadn’t realized Mac had stopped, until he was about a few aisles down. A small surge of worry filled him as he wondered if he had gone too far.

Mac’s expression was hard to read; as he approached, he followed the man’s gaze. To his surprise it was at the paint chips.

“Mac?”

“Chuck… would it be weird to paint the living room?”

“Huh?” This was not at all what Edward expected.

Flushing slightly, Mac said, “I likes how your house is with the colours, but I don’t know how to goes about it.”

Gathering himself out of his shock, Edward nodded. “Sure… well we go look at paint chips and figure out colours…” he pulled a set of grey to black “Black walls? Express your true bituminous self?” he asked wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Holy fuck no, I stare at that shit all day at work, there is no friggin’ way I’m gonna be havin’ my living room be that colour!” Mac exclaimed as he aggressively moved past Edward, paused at the rainbow of colours and then plucked out a couple sheets in the yellow and orange range. “Give me the fucking sun all year round thank you very much.”

“But Mac! Look at these wonderful colours!” Edward managed to get out, stifling his giggles as Mac’s eyes registered the different chips in neon green, baby puke brown, and some sort of blinding hot pink.

“Ye must be nuts,” Mac snorted, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he was considering, “But maybe that shit brown could be a nice accent colour to…” he looked at the paint chips in his hands, concentrating, then nodded, “This soft buttercup yellow.”

“Ohh actually that’s a nice colour, I think we probably shouldn’t match it with shit brown.” Edward placed the rejected colours back, and after a moment, grabbed a sheet of various shades of white, “We could accent it with this eggshell? Unless you want to be bold with some soft light blue?”

“Blue’s getting a little out there but show me anyway.”

Taking a minute, Edward looked at all the light blues, before drawing three different cards, and holding them in turn next to the buttercup yellow. “This one – soft turquoise.”

Mac took the blue paint chip, and held it with the yellow, staring quietly for a long time. Long enough that Edward began to feel awkward standing there, waiting for his reply. Had he gone a little too off the deep end with the blue?

Mac’s gaze shifted from the paint chips to meet Edward’s eyes, and for an excruciating ten seconds simply held it. “Yeah sure, why the fuck not? Sun needs the sky, don’t it?”

The breath he hadn’t even known he was holding was let go, a broad smile breaking across Edward’s face. “Sure as hell does.”

Somehow, even though it was stupid, Edward felt like the stones he had been carrying around were being lifted, somehow being placed into that damned shopping cart between the kettle and the freshly mixed paint. Absolved of all his sins, as he joked with Mac, reminding himself that perhaps not everything had gone to hell since the New Years. That maybe there were other aspects of his life that were worthwhile, worth building. Worth using the stones he carried around to create a new base.

By the time they reach the till, Edward was pushing a second cart full of ‘essentials’, their banter loud and boisterous, their feet moving in a slight competition as to who could reach the till first. The bill is something Edward doesn’t want to know, but Mac doesn’t mind paying it. He jokes with the cashier, that his cousin is helping him get set up in life – help him get the chicks.

In a way he was looking forward to cleaning and painting and making the house a home together with Mac. Spending the time he never seemed to have before, with someone he feels (with some guilt) he may have been neglecting.

As they made their way out to the parking lot, snow crunching under the wheels of the cart, the gun grey sky dark with the weak sun, Edward took a deep breath in, allowing the tensions to release out of him. They loaded the truck together, carefully puzzling the furniture, trying to arrange all the cleaning products and shiny new kitchen items in the back seat. As Edward attempted to balance something, Mac frowned.

“Chuck, no, what the hell are you doing. Step back and let the master work.”

Before his eyes, he watched as Mac re-shifted everything, moving the packages and different shapes together in a nice tight satisfying puzzle. Somehow everything fit. Noticing Edward’s admiring look, Mac’s ears turned slightly red, “Probably spendin’ too much time on Tetris.”

“I’d say just enough time.”

As he returned the carts to the outdoor corral, Edward realized that maybe Mac had done him a favour. His concern and intolerance of the other man’s lifestyle had consumed his worries and fears about the future. It had given him a project, something with tangible goals to accomplish. A purpose in life. Turn Mac’s house into a home, a place that was no longer a place of transience.  But it wasn’t only that. It was Mac shifting his life, wiggling a piece out there, putting a new one there, providing Edward with a fundamental shift in his self-flagellation.

Moving out of the parking lot, Edward in shotgun, the heater on full blast, he chanced a glance at the other man. The strong profile, the crooked nose, with a jaw which could probably be used to break rocks in between swigs of beer. Maybe this year won’t be as shitty as he feared.

[quatschmachen]

Icicles

.A small fic set in the 80′s; probably like 1984 ish.

Edward visits Étienne.

PG

Étienne was wearing too many layers.

Sure it was winter and probably cold but no one should be wearing a fully zipped up jacket, toque and scarf ensemble inside the airport, Edward thought.

“Why are you dressed for an arctic expedition?” Edward asked his friend.

Étienne’s voice was muffled by the scarf, “Because I have a slight cold.”

“This is overkill.” Edward teased, “Do you need my jacket as well?”

“Non.” Étienne sneezed then added, “not yet.”

They were heading away from the airport in a taxi, Étienne apparently not patient enough to wait for a bus.

Edward had packed light, he had managed to establish a Drawer for his Montreal clothes at Étienne’s, an accomplishment he tried not to think about too hard (but which, if he could admit to himself, he was delighted over). He had noticed in the brief interim that they had been outside that it was not that cold, and he figured it was probably just an Étienne thing that the man was dressed in so many layers.

It was only when Edward won the fight of paying the entire cab fare that he felt something was off with the other man.

This was confirmed as they entered Étienne’s place, and the man was refusing to de-layer his clothes.

“Étienne, it’s hot as Hades here, and you’re trying to put on another sweater – alright what’s going on – did you get a shitty tattoo? Do you have scarlet fever?” Edward huffed feeling very annoyed at his friend, his hands reaching out to bat the sweater away.

It was like unwrapping a wriggling child, dodging, and weaving away from him, as Edward firmly grabbed one end of the scarf and unwound it from his friend’s face.

Étienne’s eyes were red, his nose was red and dripping, his cheeks flushed, and he looked as if he had just crawled out of the frosty pits of Niflheim.

“Jesus Christ you look like shit.”

“Thank you Eddy I appreciate the commentary.”  Edward realized Étienne sounded weird because his nose was plugged. Étienne grabbed the scarf and rewrapped it around his face. He did however concede in removing his jacket.

“So uh can I assume we’re not going to the club tonight?”

“Excuse me? Obviously we still are, you flew out to have a good time and I’m-” Étienne had to pause to hack a lung out, “am going to show you a good time!” he did a dramatic arm flourish, over tilted, banged into the wall, cried out in pain, and then nobly righted himself, attempting a more subdued ‘we are totally going out and getting dick’ pose.

“No we’re not.” Edward said firmly as he finished taking off his boots, “We are going to stay in.”

“Eddy!! Even if I don’t go out you should go out, you didn’t come all this way to just sit on my couch and watch TV.” Étienne protested as the other man gently guided him to the couch.

Giving his friend a Look, Edward said darkly, “Do you think I fly my ass all the way out to your beautiful city to see some guy’s cock?”

“Well, you always complain that you can’t really do the same stuff in Edmonton so, yeah. I guess. You come here to get tail and I don’t blame you. Nor do I want to hold you back. And I don’t want you to get sick!”

Edward was busy firmly tucking a blanket around Étienne, ensuring that max cozy was achieved.

Étienne was still fussing, and unthinkingly, Edward leant forward and gave the other man a small kiss on the forehead to calm him down. It immediately worked.

“I’m not worried about that. Anyways. Just so you know. I happen to haul myself these many miles to see you. Since you are, you know… my friend. Now I am going to make you a hot drink, and then get take-out, ok? Wong’s is still open, yeah?”

Étienne nodded.

“And if you move from the couch for any reason other than going to bed or peeing, I will look not happily upon that.”

“Ok maudit mardeux.”

XXX

When Edward returned with take-out (he had gotten a lot, with the plan that the leftovers would tide them over for a couple days), he was happy to see that Étienne was still on the couch, the mug of hot tea in his hands, still slowly sipping.

“Eddy,” Étienne turned a plaintive look to the man, looking at the giant bags of take-out, “I’m suffering… can you get me some tissues?”

“Sure, sorry for not getting you them before I left.” Setting the take-out on the coffee table, Edward went in search of the tissues. He also figured the other man would want a personal garbage, and while he was at it, he also grabbed two bowls and cutlery.

Returning, Edward immediately worried as the other man was crying.

Étienne had moved out of his blanket fortress, one of the take-out bags were open, and before him was a round Styrofoam container, lid off, gently steaming.

“How did you know?”  he asked quietly. Soft teary eyes looked at Edward; a look that could almost be classified as tender.

Edward looked at Étienne in confusion. “Know what?”

“That I love hot and spicy soup when sick.”

“Because you once wrote me five pages of a letter dedicated to Wong’s hot and spicy soup and how it cured you of the bubonic plague, Étienne.”

“I… I don’t remember that.”

“Judging from your spelling I think you were still high off soup or something,” Edward paused as he watched his friend happily slurp the soup, “However I greatly enjoyed reading it… even if it didn’t quite make sense, especially that weird part where you tried to rhyme in iambic pentameter.”

“I have no fucking memory of this. You’re bullshitting me right? Iambic pentameter? You’re gonna have to show me this letter.”

“Only if you promise not to destroy it,” Edward teased. “Plus, hold on let me see if I can remember.” Edward sat down beside the other man, setting down the items, and then moving to help himself to the food. “Shall I travel the world for a potion? Nay, for the cure exists in Montreal. Dew of the gods in comparison pales. For yea the cure is at Wong’s; Hot and Spicy.”

“Oh my god that’s not even good,” Étienne choked slightly, and then coughed, “That last part isn’t even proper iambic pentameter.”

Edward shrugged, “Hey, you at least tried. I nearly hurt myself laughing, and I mmmmmmaaaaybe hung that up on my fridge to look at for a solid week.”

Étienne narrowed his eyes, “You better watch out Murphy, I’m sure we both have an arsenal of blackmail material in our decades of letters.”

“When did one’s life and feelings become blackmail material, Maisonneuve?” Edward quietly teased, his gaze focused to the news report on the television. The low murmur of the day’s events filling up the strange gap between them.

Étienne blew on the soup and then took a slurp. Slyly he asked, “So that letter where you drew images of your favourite buffalo can be shown to anyone?”

Edward quickly looked at Étienne, “That image was only for you ok – not for the world!”

“But it’s so cute, if I had had a refrigerator at the time it would have gone on that. Though I guess I have one now I can put it up.” Étienne paused, frowned, “Actually, Eddy, you haven’t really drawn anything for me in a while. Why did you stop?”

“Because…” Edward was surprised to find he did not have a ready answer. Life got busy? He got more self conscious? It was something that had simply fallen to the wayside without him noticing? He had grown up and decided drawing was a childish thing? “Huh. I guess I just stopped.”

His friend was wiggling, that wiggle he did when he had one of his brilliant ideas.

“’Tienne, what is it?”

“Since I am so sick, and dying, you should entertain me by drawing me a story!”

“A story?”

“Yeah! One about… buffalo.”

“Draw on what?”

“Oh uhm, let me get you-“

“Just tell me. You stay put… but can we eat first?”

“…Fine… but you are going to draw me a story.  Even if it’s in crayon, ok?”

“Yes sir,” Edward laughed, “So do I get any hot and spicy soup?”

XXXXX

“Once upon a time there was beautiful prairie, where the sound of the drums was the heartbeat of the land. Upon the prairie roamed the buffalo, strong majestic animals in whose footsteps sprung new life.”

As he drew the story, Edward narrated. The art items he found were pencil crayons and a pad of paper. The buffalo on the green grass was probably akin to a five year old’s drawing, but as he glanced over to his friend, who looked absolutely thrilled and despite suffering from a sort of plague, who was sparkling in happiness that this was even taking place, it was worth it.

“There was a very tiny calf, whose legs still wobbled.” Edward added little shaky lines to his badly drawn tiny calf, “who got separated from the herd.”

“Edward if this is going to be a sad story I want you to stop now.” Étienne interrupted.

“Shhh.” Edward settled in more, as he paused in his story telling to draw the next page. “This calf, whose name was Stardreamer, had gotten separated from the herd when following a butterfly to a small river. When Stardreamer realized he was no longer with his mother, he called and called, but got no reply.”

“Eddy…”

“Instead a wily old Magpie appeared, letting out  a cheeky laugh. Stardreamer attempted to hide, and stayed very still as the Magpie flew down and sat upon him.

<Fear not little one,> the Magpie said, as it began to pick ticks off the calf, <I am a friend.>”

As the story progressed, Edward found himself adding more twists and turns, and what was originally supposed to be only ten pages it became thirty. Étienne’s full rapt attention was addictive, and the man’s slightly wet eyes when Stardreamer reunited with the herd he found endearing.

The story of Stardreamer continued throughout the week as the two of them, instead of simply vegging out and watching movies, found themselves cooped up as the snow piled up outside. The only times Edward left was to get more food and to shovel the sidewalk (which apparently dumbfounded Étienne, who informed Edward that clearing the sidewalk was the city’s job, to which Edward rolled his eyes and asked if the people of Montreal were suddenly missing arms and shovels, which then lead to a heated debate of the role of the city when it came to snow, a debate which kept popping up).

As the week progressed, Étienne got better, his nose less plugged, his body less feverish.

As the week progressed however, Edward began to display the same symptoms of illness that Étienne had had. Something he attempted to hide from the other man… rather unsuccessfully.

He had taken himself to the washroom to blow his nose, only to bang his elbow on the wall when Étienne’s voice spoke up from the other side of the door separating them.

<Eddy, I’m so sorry, I never meant to invite you over and then give you the plague.>

Cursing and rubbing his elbow, Edward was silent a moment, then said, <I do not have the plague, it’s allergies.> This lie was quickly laid to rest as he started having a severe coughing attack. One severe enough that Étienne forced open the bathroom door to stride in and sit Edward down on the edge of the bath, gently rubbing the other man’s back as the coughing fit eventually passed.

As Edward struggled to breath, his nose and throat plugged up, his eyes red rimmed, Étienne shook his head. <Looks like it’s my turn to take care of you.>

Blowing his nose, Edward sniffled. Rubbing his forehead he managed to croak out, <I’m supposed to fly out.>

<Hmmmm, are you well enough to travel? Are you able to rebook?>

Edward was too busy coughing to respond.

<Will they even let you onto the airplane, Édouard?>

Edward shrugged, “I dunno.”

“If you insist on returning…” Étienne paused <I will simply have to travel with you. Make sure you don’t faint on the way.>

Looking over to his friend, his expression a mixture of surprised misery, Edward croaked, “You’d really do that?”

Raising one eyebrow, Étienne quietly responded <You are sick and my responsibility. I would be unable to rest at the thought of you travelling alone in such a condition.>

It was unclear whether it was the fever or something else that caused Edward’s cheeks to flush, as he looked away, his slumped shoulders relaxing, as he leant into the other man.

The only sound was his struggle to breathe, until finally he murmured, “I’ll rebook.”

[quatschmachen]

Fresh Powder

Here’s a nice 2000′s fic.

Starring an Edward Murphy and his fam. A part one of sorts.

XXX

He did not think he had any tears left in him.

After Calvin had left him, Edward had realized what a fool he had been to even think that a new century could mean a new him, a new future, a new reality, a new hope.

He had watched Calvin grow over the years, become a (somewhat) capable man. From the spoiled child to the awkward teenager to someone who he could view as an equal, someone he could talk to beyond their competitive games. Where their rivalry was one that lifted the other person up – but with the tacit knowledge that when shit hit the fan the other would have their back. Or that’s what he had thought. Where Calvin was person he could trust – he had made the mistake in viewing him as a genuine friend. The fact that Calvin had dropped and broke his cup in shock, said some hurtful shit and just… left, had torn open a gaping wound in Edward.

Everything that he had been certain of, the stuff he had felt slightly hopeful for, gone like smoke in those actions. A true betrayal. All those times where he had supported the other man through the toughest of times, their decades of friendship, meaningless. He had expected Calvin to be shocked, sure, but he thought you know, maybe after a bit of shouting or disbelief, the other man would stick around. Swallow his pride, realize that just because he discovered Edward was gay – which he had always been for the entirety of their friendship - didn’t actually change anything. It felt as if Edward’s entire identity had become subsumed into the nebulous concept of “Gay,” and that Calvin had purposely forgotten who the hell Edward was – is. The exact thing Edward hadn’t wanted to happen had happened. He was no longer an autonomous person, but simply the outcast.

Somewhere, rambling in the deepest pits of feeling sorry for himself, Edward felt a slow burning anger. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge, something he purposely was drowning to death with his own tears. Instead he fell into what he knew, the grooves of self-pity he felt most comfortable in, drawing it around him like a heavy damp protective blanket.

It had been an absolute fucking mistake to come out.  All the crushing anxiety and depression which he had thought would magically disappear if he would be goddam honest for once in his fucking life fell upon him like the walls of Erebus. The rest of his plans, his next steps were in disarray all around him.

The plans of coming out, trumpeting across the land that he was here, he was queer, and yes he was a homosexual, had crumbled. The plans of telling Étienne that he was coming out finally, after years of prodding, offhand comments, seeing the other man’s frustration as Edward kept dragging the other man into the closet with him, that the plan of saying those words would somehow magically heal that rift between them. That rift created by him – it was entirely his fault. By him not coming out. He could see how each interaction, as their relationship became more entangled, was slowly hollowing the other man out, turning Étienne into his personal closet. Here he was fucking it up again, and the other man didn’t even have to be in the same province. The space he had carved out with the other man, where he thought he could step outside, had vanished with the first step he had taken, and he feared that turning around, telling Étienne what a failure he had been, would seal that door forever.

All he could think about was the North Saskatchewan during the winter. Where each tension between them had turned them into a separate ice flow. Like crystalized scabs upon the surface of the fast running river, where once they had been jammed up beside each other, almost as if one sheet of ice. Those tense gaps between them, the words he could never say, had grown from a splinter to something more where the current was tearing them apart. And soon with the spring, or perhaps a false spring, when the weather gets warm in February and the rift between the two ice sheets grow, and you think maybe the thawing is a good thing, where instead of being brittle you can turn into the water and bend into each other --- that doesn’t happen. The river refreezes and between them instead of the water, it’s a new sheet of ice, whose growth shoves one and the other to opposite sides of the shore, one towards the slow moving inner bend, the other to be lost completely under the fast moving outer bend, to be subsumed and drowned, communication between them gone.

Edward knew which one he was, hell he was drowning in his own tears.

Edith had stopped by, but he hadn’t wanted to let her in, instead ignoring her persistent knocking. She had come in anyway and tutted over him. “Why are you laying on the floor like a dead baby seal?” she was crouching beside him. In response he turned his face further into the blue shag carpet.

“Edward…” she fully sat on the ground beside him, her fingers carding into his hair as she gently stroked. “What happened?”

He simply grunted in response.

“It didn’t go so well, huh?”

She sat beside him for a while, allowing him to roll into her thigh and ugly cry.

“And a no to you having a birthday party?”

He let out a sniffle in response.

Edith began to hum, as she played with his hair, “Are you planning to lay here all day and night like a lump?”

Her brother did not respond, “So this again huh? Do you need me to get you some more chips or something?”

Edward gave a small grunt, which Edith interpreted as a yes.

“Look, I gotta go, but I will return with chips,” Edith gave Edward a small pat, as she finally began to move, grumbling about her legs falling asleep and needing to pee.

When she had left, Edward suddenly felt even more lonely. As if the one piece of hope had left the room, and the misery fully descended upon him again.

In some ways it was like when Gretzky had left. That was another time when he had turned into a useless lump, but at least that time Étienne had visited and made him feel better.

Étienne wasn’t visiting now.

No one was visiting now.

He was fairly certain he had not moved for days, but to be honest he had no sense of time, other than the fact Edith had returned and restocked his favourite comfort foods. An hour felt like a century, a minute an hour, it could have simply been a day. Simply gone dormant, wake up enough to cry, but that’s about it.

This was perhaps why he nearly shit himself when out of the blue he heard Mac’s voice not even a foot away from him.

“Lord jaysus to the sun and moon and back what de hell is ‘appenin’ here?”

It was interesting how over time Mac’s language had simply accommodated, or perhaps incorporated Atlantic turns of phrase, Edward mulled over. Mac used to speak his English slower, more measured, probably because he spent most of his time thinking in his odd mix of Chipewyan, Cree and French.

<My imminent death,> Edward joked in Cree.  

“Yer speakin’ tongues, me son.”

Edward rolled over, rubbing his eyes, and sighed, “Mac, for the last time, you are not from Atlantic Canada and don’t need to put on this… fake accent.”

Mac frowned, “I have an accent now?”

“Yeah and its like the bastard child of everyone who ever decided to live in you.”

There was the sound of a plastic bag crinkling, and the sound of the couch springs straining as Mac sat down. Edward heard the sound of the beer can being popped open.

A few minutes of silence passed, until Mac gently ventured, “So I takes it ye don’t want to do the usual New Year cross country skiing?”

Edward frowned. How could he forget? It was a ‘tradition’ started god knows when. Probably when travel between his and Mac’s got easier, where sometime with the New Year’s snow, they would arrange a time to ski together. Strange perhaps, but having someone who instead of bitching about the snow and cold took absolute delight in it was refreshing. There were times where Edward didn’t want to pretend to hate where he lived, and being with Mac was one of those times.

“I think I need to eat first… and maybe wash.”

It was as if with Mac’s arrival the strings to the puppet master had got reattached, and Edward found himself once more able to get up, go through the motions of ‘human.’

They did not go skiing that first day. It was as if by Mac’s arrival, Edward suddenly became conscious of how disgusting he had been living, so instead, he recruited Mac to help him clean up.  The other man didn’t comment much, only asked on how to clean certain items, and once, got his hand trapped in the vacuum cleaner while trying to change the bag.

It was rather obvious to Edward that while Mac was competent in many aspects of his life, cleaning was not his forte. But maybe that was fine – he hadn’t laughed in ages, and seeing how stricken the other man looked, hand trapped in machine and bag, had acted as a medicine he hadn’t known he needed.

And somewhere between here and there Edward remembers that between the broken parts, sometimes there are still pieces worth picking up.

XXXX

The cool crisp air, the shhh shhh of the skis slicing the fresh snow, their breath hanging behind them like airplane trails. That feeling of being in another world with the snow-laden pine trees, the magpies laughing in the distance, the slow rush of the river, the water running under the large ice sheets, propelled by necessity to continuously flow.

The powdery snow all around them like the powdered drug they had taken before leaving for a small buzz, a shared bad habit ‘between men’.

Both of them bundled up, Edward could only find his bright blue ski suit, but Mac hadn’t said anything – hell the other man had brought a bright orange one, which he had joked had been assigned from ‘OH&S’.

His cheeks fresh with the cold, Edward felt his mouth become unhinged, as suddenly the words began to flow out of him. Stuff he usually would never consider telling Mac.

Mac, a man who was hard to read, hard to determine what he was thinking, (or Edward knew, many people wondered if Mac even thought), where assumptions were made without even meeting the man.

However, Mac in his own quiet strange way, was one of the people closest to him (not that a lot of other people would know that, it wasn’t like he brought the other man up in conversation all that much, specifically for the fact he did not want to spend his time listening to tired refrains of how bad the other man was).

“I’ve fucked up, really fucked everything up and I can’t un-fuck it.” The words were flowing, and he could tell the other man was listening.  “And it’s something I can’t go back on and once it’s out it’s out. I don’t even know where to go from here.”

“Tells me, do ye wanna un-fuck it?” Mac slowly asked.

Edward closed his eyes, breathing deep, “So so badly.” Tears were freezing on the edges of his lashes as he took a gulp of air, attempting to pretend it was the exercise making it hard to breathe.

Their skis had come to rest at a small out of the way overlook next to the river. Mac took out a small mickey of whiskey, took a swig, and passed it to Edward.

“Can ye un-fuck it?”

“I told you I cant.”

Mac shook his head, “I means like, whatever it is, is this sometin’ that would be out regardless?”

Edward sighed miserably, “Mac, I’m a dick-sucking faggot, and I made the irreversible confession to Calvin on New Year’s thinking… I dunno… he would be fine knowing I’m a homo? And obviously he wasn’t, he just lost it and no one wants to be near me because- because I’m who I am and--- Why the hell are you sniggering?”

“Wells, Chucky boy, did ye just tells Brisy that yer a dick-suckin’ fag? Like was those the words you said? Ye knows how he’s a bit of a prude—I thinks he was just shocked by you mentionin’ dick.”

Edward took another swig of the whiskey, “No! I just said I was gay!” He glared over at Mac and then added, “Why the hell are you so fucking fine with this?”

Mac shrugged, and took the whiskey back, “Chuck, I knews sometin’ was up wi’ ye for aaaaages.” He switched into Cree as he teased, <No girl’s ever interested you, your eyes always wandered.>

<Are you saying I was always obvious to you?>

<We’ve known each other since before the current laws, we like as we do, I may not be central in social life but that does not mean I don’t see.> Neatly tucking the bottle into his jacket, Mac switched back to English, “Ye been assumin’ I just am some brainless rig pig? Be tossing ye into the river just cuz y’ve left me more women to fuck?”

Flushing from embarrassment, and realizing, that yes, on some level, he had been making such assumptions about the other man, Edward was silent. The knot in his stomach had begun to loosen, as he realized that perhaps he was not quite all alone. He looked out at the river, calm, heavy with the ice, and his eyes drifted to the open gaps around the legs of the bridges, where it never did quite freeze over, the pillars disrupting expected flow, uplifting something different, new. Bridges where before there were ferries, and where once existed the makeshift pully gondola; to pull the horses and goods up the cliff like walls of the river valley.  Those continuous changes built by men like Mac, whose hard labour uplifted the walls of the fort into the towers of the city. The working-class who broke their bodies to support their family, to support their bad habits to support their broken bodies, and whose narratives were stolen by the more eloquent rich. He should have known better. Hell, he and Mac had often held the same job. He let out a shaky breath, not sure what to say or even how to apologize.

“Anyways, as I sees it ye owes me a case of beers for bein’ a stupid as shit idiot,” Mac grunted as he set out on the trail again.

Edward took a moment to watch as the other man moved away from him, not even arguing this fact.

[quatschmachen]

Nadir

Hello, it is I posting another monmonton fic.

This takes place 1980′s and according to Hapo is “frustrating in a bad way >: (”

Masterpost

XXX

He could only find him simply because they had explored the worst of each other.

Considerations in place, there was no way that he would gently sit down with Élyse and detail that sometimes they simply went to places where they could be ground down into nothing; where they could simply become insignificant, punishing their bodies through pleasure.

Instead he told her to not worry and that he would find him. Find the missing man, perhaps not his soul, but find the body of the man.  Get him functioning enough so that she would be satisfied, until once again Étienne went off the rails.

It had been a mistake to simply arrive without checking in. There had been those vague plans that he would come by, strung together with maybes, tied together with perhaps.

Things had shaken out that he did have time to visit Montreal, not that he would say he bent the time, shaped it so that it made sense for him to stop into the city where he could sink into the persona he was starting to feel more comfortable in, the man who didn’t care, the man who was everything he wished he could be, the man who he put on.

His key, still rather new to him, had easily slid into the lock and when he opened the door; he nearly jumped out of his skin to see Élyse standing there in the dark hallway, hugging herself in worry. She let out a sound of surprise, clearly not expecting to see him, and he stared at her wondering why the hell she was there.

Her eyes flitted around nervously, as she said in a false hopeful voice, “Oh? Does my brother know you are coming?”

“Maybe… no… I didn’t get the chance to call him.” Edward paused trying to get a read of the situation. He half wondered how much Élyse knew, but then perhaps he was being paranoid ��� he and Étienne had been friends for a good long time, so it should not be bizarre for him to simply drop by to see a friend. He always worried that the others would see the imprint of the other man upon his skin, feel the groove left in his body, or how he simply oozed with desire for him… he stifled that under bland demeanor and sweater vests. A proper man. A good friend. Not one whose hands shook to reach out and grab into the brown curls hard.

Her expression closed in on itself, “Ah sorry, then he’s not in… he hasn’t been in for about a week… I’m sorry but I think your visit has been a bit of a wasted journey. Would you like some coffee?”

Tilting his head curiously, Edward considered the situation. It hadn’t occurred to him that this would even be something he would face, the fact that Étienne somehow was not eagerly awaiting him. He had seemed enthused that he might be able to come over, enough to give Edward confidence to do so and now… Étienne was not in?

“Sure,” he replied as he fully entered and closed the door behind him effectively shutting the sunlight out, the rays shining through the small window at the top of the door casting Élyse effectively in shadow.

Sitting down across from her sipping the black instant coffee, Edward was not sure what to say. He had never truly been friends with Élyse, was not even sure what they had in common. He decided to start with the main question.

“Why do you say it’s a wasted journey?”

Élyse frowned considering what to say, glancing up at him as if judging how much information she could share, then sighed, “Oh sometimes my brother he… goes on adventures without telling anyone… he usually returns, but sometimes these adventures are days, weeks… months…” she trailed off. “He is very good at disappearing when he wants to.”

Slowly setting his coffee on the table, Edward tried to sift through all she had not said, read into the gaps. Adventures sure seemed like a nice word, a glossing over…

“Élyse, are you talking about your brother’s benders?” he bluntly asked and felt a small tingle of satisfaction as she nearly knocked over her coffee. Deciding to lay some of the cards on the table, Edward continued, “You’re talking around Étienne as if I don’t know him. I literally have a key to his place, he trusts me.” He let that hang in the air in silence for a moment, then added in a quieter voice, the one that won over people’s trust in their times of doubt, the one he reserved for the situations where he wanted the situation to go his way, and perhaps in a way that might not benefit the other person, “What do you need me to do to help?”

Rubbing the rim of her mug with her index finger, she took a steadying breath as her shoulders slumped, as if everything she had been trying to hold together got crumpled out of her; she was staring down, her eyes rapidly blinking, as she tried to get a hold of herself, and finally in a small voice she confided shyly, the words spilling out slipping out over one another like pebbles,  as if she had been dying for someone to talk to, anyone who cared enough to even ask, “He does this a lot actually, he disappears, he gets into one of his moods, and I try to predict them, I check in on him make sure he’s alright but something sets him off and he just disappears and it would be fine if he was well, but he’s y’know, he’s – he’s, well, he’s not well, uhm and usually when he does reappear he looks terrible and I just wish I could somehow help him, I don’t know what to do, I don’t even know where to look, I sometimes have ideas, but whenever I figure things out he changes his patterns so I’m just left here worrying not knowing when he’ll show up, phoning Emma because sometimes he just visits her and those times are fine, a fucking relief, but he’s not at Emma’s… and I just…” she took a shaky sip of her coffee, closing her eyes briefly, “He’s been gone for over a week now… he’s been slipping all this month, I should have stopped by sooner, I was so stupid not to. “

Edward considered for a moment, as her words came to an awkward halt, her face flushing as she realized she probably said too much.

“Do you know what may have set him off?”

“No… it’s hard to tell these days. Otherwise I could do better predicting these things y’know...”

Finishing his coffee Edward considered the situation. He had the time. Montreal was not just about Étienne, he could admit to himself. Montreal was where he could be who he wanted to be, but he could not be who he wanted to be with Élyse here cramping his style.

“Élyse, you’re tired, you should go home and rest.” He looked at her exuding the confidence he had mastered faking, the one that got him through the long meetings, “I have the time, I’ll find him.”

“I- are you sure?”

Edward shrugged, “Write your number down and I’ll call you when I’ve found him. What have you got to lose?”

It was that last argument that swayed her, “Shouldn’t I stay here though?”

Pretending to consider the proposition, even though everything of himself screamed that no she should not be around, he shook his head, “There’s no telling when we will come back, it’s better for you to go home.”

It was as she was leaving that she turned around at the door, her eyes suddenly hard, “If you fuck this up I’ll kill you.”

Edward smiled, feeling like the cat who got the cream, “Please Élyse, Étienne is truly blessed to have you in his life – I promise I won’t fuck this up.”

When she was gone, and Edward was finally alone, he finally let himself examine the feeling that had been brewing within himself when he had discovered Étienne not home. Outrage, anger, irritation, that Étienne had gotten started without him. Étienne was probably miles ahead in being fucked up, and it was entirely inconsiderate, he thought.

Changing out of his pedestrian clothes, the ones that had people trust him, he transformed himself into the man who desired oblivion, the one that screamed not to be trusted, and as he peered at himself in the mirror, hand firmly applying the subtle make-up touches, he found himself smirking as he murmured, “But I didn’t promise not to fuck him up.”

Snorting a bump to give himself the preliminary buzz, he looked outside, glad that the sun was setting, meaning it was time for the fuckups like him to leave the house. He carefully hid the key in the secret spot, knowing that it was better to leave it here and not lose it in whatever adventures he may go on.

His boots were heavy, his steps heavy on the heel, as he comfortably slunk down the streets to where he suspected the other man to be. They had been here together on numerous occasions, where words were unnecessary as they each sought the same thing.

The darkness of the night twined around him as he visited club after club, talking, drinking, taking whatever could get him fucked up, his inquiries not about the man himself, more where he personally could find oblivion, where he found the person with the deadest look in their eyes, knowing instinctively that they were the correct person to talk to. Until finally he got more of a scent to a party of a friend of a friend, where there was some really good stuff, where days and nights blurred together, and getting lost was being found. He was in the arms of someone he didn’t know the name of, their kisses scorching, bodies grinding together in the hot small hallway, his mind blank, as he lost himself, any thought of who he was meant to find lost to the wayside. Waysides however were not so easily found when the thrumming buzz of intoxication started to give way to the drag of withdrawal.

Groaning, wondering where the closest drugs were, anything to stop the low that was coming on like a tidal wave of misery. He was at one of the seedier clubs, the place where those who had no good place to call home ended up after more respectable places had closed for the night. Soft spots of light permeated the club, while the music thumped enough to fill bodies with vibrations of the music. Making his way over to the bar, figuring he could use a drink for thinking time, he stumbled slightly. A small part of him was aware enough that when he did leave this place, he was going to have the worst of hangovers. At this moment he did not care.

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voice chirped, causing him to jump slightly.

“Wha-?” Focusing he saw familiar blond curls, framing a face with impeccable makeup, red lipstick, and faint stubble.

“Why didn’t tell me you were in town?” An annoyed tap of the cigarette into the ash tray, “Or are you looking for your personal train wreck?”

“Martina… fancy finding you here… Do you have any good stuff?” Edward really wanted something to take the edge off, and not to be interrogated by Martina.

Adjusting their bra, Martina huffed, “I swear you two are built for each other, whichever one who ends up dead the fastest could be a bet.”

“Why are you here?” Edward tried differently, he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, and he knew if Martina got half a chance they would chat his ear off - Martina was great company when you weren’t hell bent on destroying yourself. Martina unfortunately had managed to hang on to a modicum of sense, even in the most wild of parties, to pull their asses out of the worst of it, not realizing that there were times when they desired the worst of it.

“Same reason as you, heard rumours of someone going downhill and wanted to investigate.”

“He here?”

With a sigh, they waved their cigarette over to an area across the room, “Alive and giving a line of eager suitors some blow jobs. Not that it should matter to you.”

Following the direction indicated, Edward could see a small lineup of men, orderly, going to the designated gloryhole.

“How long?”

“Long enough,” Martina said darkly, “I love cock as much as the next man, but his jaw should be fallen off and on the ground by now.”

“I want what he’s having,” Edward murmured.

“Those drugs are going to kill you two if sex doesn’t first.”

“Martina, why are you always such a joy?” Edward quipped as he began to walk towards where Étienne apparently was lurking.

“If I didn’t say it, no one will!” Martina snapped back.

Pushing through the crowd, Edward looked at the small line up, debating whether he should wait it out, but realized, that sometimes things would never end. Instead he peeked around the curtain, noticing the familiar curls.

If he didn’t know any better, he would say that Étienne had reached a state of cock sucking zen. Instead of being on his knees, he was comfortably seated on a stool, his mouth and hands working, eyes closed, his breathing even.

Instead of immediately disturbing, Edward silently stood there watching, as one man left and another stepped forward. The minimal words, the physical exchange, no need to bare souls here, just one obvious need meeting another. A simple binary of interactions. He completely understood the appeal, and on a level he could not quite explain felt slightly envious. If only all of life was so easy.

There seemed to be a lull in the men, and Edward realized it was now or never.

He reached out across the short distance, intending to touch Étienne, but realized perhaps this might not be the best idea.

<Got a light?> he settled on asking.

Étienne’s eyes snapped open, his body moving violently in surprise as he quickly turned his neck to look at him.

Étienne licked his lips, his voice rasping out in a husky tone, <Édouard? What the hell? When the fuck did you turn up?>

Edward modestly shrugged, <Recently. Dropped by your place but you weren’t there>.

Rubbing his jaw Étienne’s eyes narrowed, swallowing, as if attempting to regain his voice, <What the hell, you never told me you were actually coming, you bastard! I would have been there at the airport for you.>

Any hopes any other man might have had about a blow job from Étienne that night were dashed as Étienne stood up, his legs shaking slightly. Edward instinctively reached out, letting the other man hold onto it and lean heavily into him.

<Thought I’d try my luck, Élyse is worried sick by the way.>

Étienne rolled his eyes and let out a derisive puff of air, <Élyse can go fuck herself.>

<’Tienne?>

<Neddy,> Étienne purred as his hand slid down to Edward’s ass, <Let’s not talk about boring things? Look, there’s Richard, he has some of the best drugs, and if we’re lucky he can lead us to the next party.>

<Martina’s here.> Edward responded lowly.

<Killjoy Martina, I swear she wants us alive.>

In response Edward gave a low chuckle, <If only she knew, huh?>

Realizing that any further conversation would lead to nowhere, and honestly feeling too muddled to think too straight, Edward lazily felt himself fall into the usual pattern. Whatever was off with his friend was a mystery he probably wouldn’t solve, something he had accepted awhile back. It was doubtful that Étienne would view Edward as worthwhile for those tightly held secret aspects, aspects which Étienne probably didn’t want to admit to himself. Edward was there to provide fun and escape. Responsibilities were for a different person on a different day.

Étienne was by his side, his quest was effectively over, and they could lose themselves together.

XXXX

As the time slowly dripped between drinks, the places blurred together, faces repeating themselves, oblivion simply a repetition of actions enacted.  That marginal space where Edward half wondered if the people they talked to were simply ghosts of their present – the matching tired faces, bodies full of desire, becoming what they could not be in the daylight.

It was in that phase of the morning where the sun has not risen, but the sky has lightened and the fog from the river is eddying around your ankles, the city so quiet it was as if they were the only two people in existence.  Their pace was in no way fast, simply a meandering as if they had accidentally found themselves above ground, when they desperately needed to retreat back to the holes of the night.

Alone except for the shadow emerging in front of them. At first non-threatening, but it grew before them, a knife cutting through the fog.

<Have any smokes?> the words were rough, the person barely coming into focus.

<Yeah,> Edward reached into his pocket, fumbling slightly, his attention distracted not realizing what was happening until afterwards. It was too swift, Étienne moving forward, the sound of bodies impacting, Edward shouting, and then there was the punch to his eye and the rest of it seemed to disappear from memory.

 <-y? Eddy?>

Edward cracked open an eye, his head hurting like murder.

Étienne’s eyes were no longer glassy, more frantic and full of fear, damp from tears trapped in between being shed and held, <Oh god, Eddy - >

<What happened?>

Étienne’s eyes flicked down to his arm where a gash was slowly dripping blood, <Locals?>

<You’re bleeding.>

<You fucking blacked out!>

<I’m fine.>

<You’re not.>

<You’re worse off.>

<Eddy, I’m not even going there.>

<What did this local want.>

<Some cash, gave it to him, the usual.>

<The usual huh?>

<The Usual.>

Edward took a moment to get in touch with what was happening with his body, realizing that the fog was beginning to clear and the sun was starting to taint the sky.

<’Tienne?>

Étienne’s blood was slowly dripping onto his jacket. <Yes?>

<I swear to god if you ruin this jacket I will personally steal every left sock there is in your house.>

A moment of confusion, as Étienne processed this threat, his mouth moving before the thought quite caught up <Socks don’t have direction…> a moment <Wait…>

Edward in response raised his eyebrows.

<Étienne, I also don’t want to see the sun so the faster I’m hidden the better.>

<What are you, a vampire?>

<No.> Edward grunted as he stood up, <Just very tired and the drugs are wearing off.>

Étienne huffed, as if not sure what to say, before murmuring <I swear sometimes I think you are an older man than I.>

They were silent as they made their way through the park, ignoring the looks of the early risers, passing by the other creatures of the night scurrying to their respective holes.

Around them the air was changing, the birds awakening to the day.

The silence between them lengthened, the gaps beginning to show, where companionable friendship slid against each other like shale, steps quickening.

Étienne broke first, as they rounded the corner, his place in sight, “Every left sock?”

“Your left foot won’t know what hit it.”

Keys jangling, missing the lock, trying again, wrong direction, try again, finally, carefully, hand shaking, the satisfying sliding in, the easy turn, the distinct click.

“Let’s hope the jacket can be saved then.”

Later, as the jacket hung to dry, the sins of the night had been briefly washed off,  and wounds tended, Edward looked at the man beside him.

The hollowed-out cheeks, eyelids fluttering, not quite asleep, perhaps never quite there.

In many ways looking at Étienne was like looking at the physical manifestation of his own hollowed-out self. Invisible tendrils drawing him to the man’s naked pitiful body exposed to his roving eye, the covers twisted around his legs, his ribs their own mountain ranges, the tracks across his skin from heavy drug usage almost a map of the city itself, those marks blurring into the tattoos, tattoos to hide further sins? Or tattoos for pleasure? Edward was never quite sure when it came to his friend. Then again he was not sure about many things, why despite the physical distance between them they now were the type of friends to do those intimate acts of self harm with, to participate in the sacred rites that outsiders could never understand.

Despite the curtains best intentions, tendrils of light invaded, revealing how the man beside him was curled sleeping in an infant-like position, completely vulnerable. If somehow they could become inkblots on the Rorschach test they would be parallel wings, indistinct blobs between them, merely the vague ideas of other people.

Closing his eyes, trying to ignore how sore he was, Edward’s thoughts became disjointed, somewhere whispering that neither of them had no one to call home

[quatschmachen]

Watchin’

Me writing a fic out of spite and desperation.

Also me while writing Ben’s dialogue: why doesn’t anyone write him?????????????????

XXXXXXX

“Nuh uh, there is no fucking way you are going to get me into that,” Bert exclaimed as he eyed the tiny little rowboat with high suspicion. This entire plan had been bad, and he knew he should have nixed it the moment Ben got that gleam in his eye, which usually meant suffering for him.

“Luh, steady ‘n sweeter than condensed milk ‘n tae,” Ben exclaimed as he gently rocked the boat out into the water, “ready for ye to steps in goes fer a row.”

Crossing his arms, Bert looked away, eyes crossing across the water of the tickle, wondering why he was even visiting Ben. Sure they were best friends who tended to get into a hell of a lot of trouble, but usually it was Ben visiting him, not the other way around. The other way around meant he had to touch ocean, and not that he was scared or anything, but somehow Ben had no fear of the water, and even laughed about how once his house got swept out by a tsunami and he had to row it back in and – if that wasn’t terrifying he didn’t know what counted.

“Seas calmer den grandmudders underpants on de line b’y,” Ben continued to cajole, as he held the boat steady, “Steps in will ye, or I’s be tellin’ de odders how afeared ye are of de sea.”

With a huff, Bert stepped into the water, glad he had learnt his lesson from last time, and was wearing the fishing waders and rubber boots, as he quickly stepped into the rowboat, and sat his ass down onto the wooden plank seat.

Not liking the wide smile Ben had as he gave the boat a strong push and hopped into it in an action of pure fluid poetry, Bert clutched to the seat and watched as Ben picked up the oars, and began to use big long strokes to pull them farther away from the shore. Ben was the type of man who seemed to hate silence, and as he stroked be hummed to himself, taking them along the shore line, and turning a corner, until he finally reached his unspoken destination.

“Dids I ever tells ye ‘bout de time I’s got swept out to da sea with da tsunami?”

“Yes.” Bert responded as he took a glance, appreciating that it was rather rugged and beautiful. The landscape that is.

“So’s y’knows Betty and Juanita me neighbours at de time, guess ye could be calling dem lesbians, afore Juanita be meetings Betty she had a husband, bad man, not sad he drowned, ‘n she had tree kids, which she ended up raisin’ wit’ Betty wha?”

Bert was half wondering if he should be listening intently or tuning the other man out. It wasn’t that hard to tune him out, he thought as his gaze drifted over the bunched up biceps as they gave a lazy stroke in the water. Ben’s hair was glistening in the sun, one of those rare sunny days, Bert appreciating the man not wearing a hat, while at the same time glad he had managed to remember to keep his on.

“-so’s the great great great great great great great granddaughter—hell dat the righ’ number of greats? Shit I dunno, n’yways, the great times infinity granddaughty she’s been runnin’ a local microbrewery off by Bona Vista ‘n the beers better ‘n any in Alberta-”

Bert perked up, as he frowned at the other man, “Excuse me? You took me out here to insult Alberta beer – the BEST beer in the entire world?”

“Jus’ checkins to sees if yer listenin’ b’y,” Ben had the audacity to wink, “I tooks  you here to see dat actually.” He gestured with his chin in the distance.

At first Bert assumed it was the iceberg. Sure it was nice, but visiting the other man he had seen plenty of icebergs, breathtaking, beautiful, the usual. He didn’t see why he had to be in a boat to see it.

That was when he saw the spouting mist of an exhale, as a whale surfaced.

“B-Ben—is that.”

“Mmhmm, figures ye mights wants t’ be seeings them afore they’re all dead, if ye looks closely there be a lil’ tot aside the mudder.”

Heart racing, not in fear, but in self-preservation, Bert stared as the two right whales moved closer. “M-mother and child? Aren’t we in a whale murder zone?”

Ben let out a loud guffaw, “Lord jaysus me son, ye thinks I’d be to widya to a whale murder zone?”

Bert did not respond, absolutely fixated, staring at them. He was not sure how much time had passed, but he felt himself slowly relax as the whales moved on, away from them.

“Been seein’ dem in dis area for a while, figures it would be nice to shares it wit’cha.” Ben explained. He looked up to the clear sky and frowned, “Best be getting’ in now, the weathers ‘bout to change.”

“The sky is clear,” Bert said in puzzlement.

“Can smells it, gonna be a nasty storm, best be inside afore fog rolls in.”

Bert knew better than to question further, and settled into his seat, his gaze flickering to the other man, taking in the sweat on his brow as he rowed them around the bend to where they had pushed off. Perhaps Ben was not the most beautiful of people, certainly didn’t have anything on a pretty lady, but there was something about him that kept drawing his gaze.

Not letting himself think any further on that, he let himself feel relief as they reached shore and he once more set foot onto the solid ground, helping to drag the boat up out of the tidal line, and up onto the truck.

As Ben started it, he watched with amazement as the heavy fog began to roll in, and wondered if they would get to where they were staying in time.

[quatschmachen]

Driftwood

The 2020 arc continues!

Continuation of Sparks Masterpost

XXXXX

This was a two- step he didn’t know the tune to. Maybe more like a three and a half step, with him acting as the ringleader with two idiots who didn’t know their ass from their tail. It was a situation, granted, which he had created, but he hadn’t accounted for feeling like the third wheel of a chuckwagon.

He was glad for the darkling sky and the warm light of the fire, which gave him some space to let his face rest in the shifting shadows. If there was some level of hell where you slept with the people you were confused on how the hell to act and be with, with no escape at all, he certainly seemed to have invented it. He had purposely sat to the side, using Mac and Caroline as a love-strewn buffer to give himself some breathing space.

He had not at all thought that the two men he had been trying to get to “kiss and make up,” who had literally been moving like glaciers, would suddenly meet global warming and melt down into the spring. What the hell? He honestly thought all they would do was talk and decide to stop avoiding each other or hug it out. Fucking on top of the mountain had not been it.

On one level he appreciated that Edward took him seriously enough to disclose the necessary information, that there was no sneaking around or having affairs. Still he felt a little uneasy, there was a part of him that felt like he should be acting in a jealous possessive manner… and the fact that he wasn’t made him confused. Yes, he knew he had worked on that aspect of himself, and he had known Edward long enough that if he had never made up with Étienne he would be on some level sad for eternity, and he knew logically he could trust the other man, but but but.

But what about me? The small doubtful voice seemed to whisper. It was the one he tried to ignore, managed to put a lid on. Ignore and walk away. Keep corralled up in the farthest field of his brain.

Sipping on his lukewarm beer, he looked over to Edward and Étienne, who were sitting close together, but not too close, both conscious enough not to act like lovers quite yet. The conversation had turned to one of Mac’s tall tales. It was one of those tales where he seemed to have merged something from Ben’s never-ending vault with some original content, and managed to make it hilarious and unbelievable. There was no way that Mac had been out wrestling bears, but the details were entertaining.

Maybe the best resolution was to get drunk enough to pass out in the tent, so he could be oblivious to what decisions had to be made, he thought. Standing up, he walked over to the RV to grab another beer and was surprised when Caroline followed him.

“Did you need another beer?” he asked her as he unlocked the door.

“No,” she paused letting him root around in the cooler. He could tell she wanted to say something, and he took slightly longer than necessary, not really feeling up to a heart-to-heart conversation.

Behind them the others were laughing hard about something Mac had said, and as he pulled out his beer and shut the door, he looked towards his sister, who was backlit from the fire. He couldn’t read her face, and nearly jumped when she gently placed her hand on his upper arm.

“Honey, are you doing ok?”

“Yeah?”

The grip tightened.

“Mostly?”

“You seem sort of off, I know you don’t really want to cause a big scene, but I just wanted to check in.”

Calvin forced his face into a smile, “Shoot sis, I can’t be Las Vegas lights twenty-four seven, y’know.”

Rolling her eyes, Caroline huffed, “Usually while camping you’re snuggled up to Edward! But you’re not even sitting on the same log!”

“Thought I’d let him sit with his - - friend.” Calvin shrugged, “I get him most of the time, figured maybe he wanted some Étienne time or something.”

“I don’t know why, but I’m not buying it.”

“Caroline,” Calvin sighed, knowing that she was like a terrier when it came to these issues, and that she would not back off unless he gave her something. Glancing towards the group, his heart tightening as he saw Edward and Étienne’s heads bent together in some sort of private conspiracy, he decided to carefully plod out a half truth of sorts. “I’m just being a little insecure about Edward’s friendship with Étienne… they go way back, and I just sometimes forget Edward has a whole life outside of me…” The half truth was actually a truth. Probably for the better, he thought as his sister relaxed her grip.

Giving him a pat, she smiled, “If he breaks your heart, I know ways to make him pay.”

Calvin laughed, “Caro, it’s not that serious – anyway ain’t I supposed to be the one issuing threats with your big lug over there?”

Snorting, Caroline shook her hair out, “Please, Mac may not be book smart, but he ain’t an idiot. He’s smart where it counts… plus do you really see him breaking my heart?”

“No… most likely it would be you breaking his heart and him camping out in my basement crying into every alcohol and junk food imaginable.”

“That’s the ticket!”

“Caro! Can you gets us the guitar?”

“Sure thing, Piggy!”

Heading back to his spot, Calvin was surprised when Edward got up and disappeared. Looking over to Étienne, who was also looking over in Edward’s direction with slight amusement, he wondered what the hell was up.

As Mac settled in with the guitar, Edward appeared with his fiddle. He handed off a set of spoons to Étienne, and then spent a moment tuning.

“Any requests?”

“How about Old Town Road?” Calvin joked.

Giving him a steady look, Edward raised an eyebrow and looked over to Mac, “Sure?”

Not realizing that Edward would actually take him up on it, Calvin was entertained when after a few tentative strains, Edward actually managed to get it, with Mac in the background playing, and finally, after a few bars, Étienne joining in on the spoons. Calvin begun to sing, taking up the challenge Edward was throwing down to him, as he slapped his thigh to keep rhythm, and before he knew it with Caroline on the harmonica, they had moved onto other songs, the mood mellowing between them.

Edward continued to subtly challenge him, choosing songs to play that he knew would purposely provoke him, a slow tease in music, enough to make his heart race. Edward also would change the rhythm, his eyes locking onto Calvin’s as with a smirk he did a slight arpeggio, attempting to throw Calvin’s singing off. However, Calvin kept up, counter balancing Edward’s playing as he knew the songs well enough to not just sing them straight. Despite the flirtatious playing, Mac, Caroline and Étienne managed to keep the rhythm, their sound gelling together. He barely noticed as the evening grew cooler, the heat from the fire dying down as he sang along to the songs, their voices joining in various levels of harmony – not production worthy, but good enough.

As he struck the last note, Edward lowered his bow, making a face, which Calvin knew meant “fingers cramping” and that he would end up being the one to rub his hands. His stomach twisted as Edward glanced at Étienne, and he worried that he had miscalculated. Was that going to be Étienne’s job now too?  His stomach unclenched as Edward crossed the short distance between them and sat on the log next to him. Carefully he set the fiddle and bow down, and then held out his hands expectantly in front of him. Wordlessly, Calvin took one of the hands and began to massage it.

“God, I haven’t played that long in a while,” Edward lightly complained, “I would have continued on, but the quiet time is 11… and I realized its 11:30.”

Calvin’s massage had moved up Edward’s arm to his shoulder where he knew the greatest strain tended to be. Edward relaxed into his touch with a happy sigh.

“Geezus dat late already, Chucky boy?” Mac stood up, stretching as the guitar lay strung across him. “Guess it’s time for me and Caro to hit the hay. Lotsta see tomorrow.”

As Caroline and Mac drifted over to the RV, Calvin worked on Edward’s other hand.

“Shoot I gotta pop the fiddle into the truck while I still can,” Edward muttered as he pulled away from Calvin. “Then I guess washroom and bed, eh?”

“Euh…  yeah sure.”

Watching Edward jog over, Calvin cast a sidelong glance over to Étienne who was decidedly not looking happy. The fire was dying out, and realizing it was best to fully kill it, Calvin pitched the water bucket onto it, the coals hissing in displeasure.

Except it wasn’t the coals hissing, he quickly realized, but Étienne hissing. His eyes were still adjusting to the dark, but he could make out the huddled form of the other man clutching at his arms.

“Hey, are you ok?” he asked setting down the bucket and carefully stepping toward the other man.

“No!” Étienne stood up, looking around frantically, “Where are our clothes again? I’m fucking freezing.”

“Oh! Yeah, let’s go to the washrooms and get ready for bed.”

“I mean I need clothes now,” Étienne seriously replied, “What temperature is it? Minus ten?”

“No,” Calvin replied amused, “More like eight.”

“Eight?! In August-” Étienne paused, then let out a breath, “I think I mentally blocked this part of your province from my mind for my own sanity.”

“Blocked?”

Étienne had subtly moved closer to Calvin, his body brushing against the other man’s no doubt in an attempt to acquire more body heat.

“Crunchy grass in August,” Étienne muttered the words out as if they were an ancient Latin curse meant to summon a demon from the seventh tier of hell.

“C-crunchy grass?” They had reached the tent where their stuff was, and Calvin unzipped it, grabbing the toiletry bag. “Did you wanna change in the tent or in the washroom? Are you uh – gonna shower?”

“There is no way in hell that I am going to shower, that’ll make me feel even more cold.” Étienne grumbled, “I’ll change in the tent. Is my toothbrush with your stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait for me.” Étienne climbed into the tent and zipped up the door. There was rustling, and some cursing.

“Cal…”

Calvin jumped slightly as he realized that Edward had caught up to him.

“Why are you staring at the tent? And – why is it cursing?”

“Étienne’s changing,” Calvin explained, his free hand instinctively moving over to gently rub Edward’s shoulder.

“Isn’t he showering?”

“He said something about crunchy grass? I guess not?”

“Hmmm, well I need a shower at least… why are we waiting?”

“He asked me to wait.”

“…When I ask you to wait you just tell me it’s going to be a race.” Edward lightly accused.

“It works, doesn’t it?”

“If your thumb wasn’t feeling so good in my shoulder I would punch you,” Edward sighed.

Their attention was brought to the tent as the door unzipped, and Étienne tumbled out wrapped in thick sweatpants and a long sweater. “Changing in the dark is terrible.” He grumbled. “Let’s hurry up so I can get warm.”

“Yeah but let’s get our clothes to change,” Edward responded as he dove into the tent, knowing exactly where he had packed his and Calvin’s pajamas. Popping out in under two minutes, he zipped the tent back up triumphantly, the clothing and wash bag tucked under his arm.

Étienne’s pace was brisk, with Calvin easily keeping stride. Edward was half a step behind as they went to the communal washroom. The caged lights were covered with the struggling bodies of moths trying to touch the burning bright, the bugs swarming around the brilliance, not paying attention to the trio of men pushing through into the washroom.

The brilliant fluorescent lights blinded them momentarily as they opened the door, the smell of disinfectant, plastic and that forever camping washroom smell that permeated every variation.

Mac was zipping up his toiletry bag and nodded to them as the set up shop at the sink. “G’night guys, see you tomorrow, hey?”

“Yeah, goodnight Mac,” Edward replied, as the other two simply chorused a goodnight.

Calvin efficiently handed out toothbrushes, along with the toothpaste. Tiredly, in almost a sleepy synchronicity, they scrubbed. The bright light blanched their reflections in the mirror, and as they spat in the sink and completed their ablutions, it was almost… comfortable.

Washing their faces and putting the toiletries away, Calvin took his stuff from Edward and disappeared into the change room. The floor was still damp from someone else’s shower, and he eyed the curtain wondering if it was one of those pay showers – the one where it’s like a dollar a minute and which only spouted cold water. Undressing, he stepped into the shower and let out a sigh of happiness as he realized it was not pay. He heard Edward in the next stall over turn on the shower, he did the same and let out a small yelp as ice cold water hit him. He felt unmoored by everything and half of him wished he had been bold enough to ask Edward into the shower with him. Too shy with Étienne sitting right out there waiting for them, making sounds of impatience – sounds as if he was about to freeze to death while waiting. Plus, every word said would echo in the shower, this was not the best place for intimacy. Unwillingly his mind remembered Edward’s tease about fucking Étienne in the shower, and he frowned wondering how the logistics of that would work out, before he quickly decided he probably should not be mentally visualizing this. It was a situation he was not invited to.  

On the river with the fresh turmoil of spring, when he took those long walks with Edward through the freshly budding canopy, he remembered watching the broken logs float upon the silty brown waters. He had wondered aloud to Edward at the size of a particular log, the limbs broken and smoothed down from its tumultuous journey, and Edward responded most likely it had come from the mountains. The journey down incline across prairie to appear at that moment before them, a journey that would continue until inevitably the log would wash up somewhere. A somewhere where it could be in someone’s way, or perhaps come to rest and rot gently in piece or perhaps become the home to someone or something. Endless possibilities, but whatever happened to the log it was away from its place of birth.

He had read an article about how trees had feelings and built networks to support each other, where trees would keep the stump of a dead friend alive by feeding it nutrients. It was one of those internet articles which you read and contemplate, not truly believing the claims, but which stuck in the back of the mind, emerging now and then in a pleasant haunting. Torn away from networks and home, he half wondered if the wooden carcass would have a memory of life, or if it had been so leeched of whatever plant sentience it had that as its body bobbed down the river, there was no need to mourn.

At the moment Calvin felt like that log, torn up by the roots by forces outside of his control and bobbing along to an unknown destination.

The soap got into his eye and he blamed that for the stinging sensation, it was simply that and nothing else. He just wanted some goddam alone time with Edward to really process, to really connect, but at the moment for the upcoming few days that was unlikely to happen unless he… kidnapped his boyfriend or something. Turning his face up into the water he let it run down his face and chest, working to numb the turmoil in his chest.

What’s done is done, he thought as he turned the water off, the horse has left the barn and is literally in a different province at this point.

Goosebumps spread across his skin as he toweled himself off, feeling clean but cold as hell.

Perhaps Étienne had been right to not shower before bed, he thought as he finished changing. Carefully folding his clothes up, he ran his fingers through his damp hair and gave himself a tiny pep talk. It was going to be fine. Everyone was going to sleep and Étienne would kindly not snore.

Exiting the stall, he looked over to Edward who was leaning against the sink, talking to Étienne. Edward’s hair was slicked, and he was wearing his old thick Oilers hoody and matching sweatpants. Étienne was pouting as he was touching Edward’s damp hair in disapproval.

Edward looked over to Calvin, and grinned, “Took forever, didn’t ya?”

“Aw fuck off,” Calvin grumbled as he walked towards them.

Lightly punching him in the arm, Edward said “Manners, McCall.”

“Manners, McCall,” Calvin imitated, earning himself another punch – which he dodged as he nimbly pushed through the door into the dark night.

Edward gave chase and gave a whoop as he reached Calvin and grabbed his arm, forcefully linking them. “Why you being a little shithead?” He let out a small groan and rubbed his lower back, “Running is a regret.”

Hearing Étienne behind them, Calvin simply tilted his head and raised one eyebrow.

“You guys nearly forgot your toiletry bag!” Étienne huffed as he caught up.

“Hmm? I just knew you would get it, sweetie,” Edward responded as he reached out with his free arm and grabbed Étienne’s hand.

Étienne’s mouth opened once, twice, as he attempted to find words, caught the eye of Calvin, and shut his mouth deciding not to respond.

As they reached the tent, there was a momentary pause, and then Edward suggested, “I sleep in the middle?”

There was agreement, and as they climbed in Edward snuggled up into the middle, as Calvin plopped on his right side and Étienne on the left. The air mattress wheezed slightly as they settled in.

Giving Edward a kiss, Calvin closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him. He heard Étienne give Edward a goodnight kiss, his stomach feeling a little odd about that, his emotions still not quite stabilized.

He was drifting off when there was movement on the other side, and then a whimper.

God they weren’t, were they? He thought, his eyes popping open in annoyance.

“Eddy…” came the soft whine.

Edward sighed. “Mmm?”

“I’m… cold.”

Calvin could sense Edward turning to look at him, so he immediately shut his eyes and pretended to sleep, curious as to how this would play out.

“Cold cold?”

“My ass is cold, there’s like a breeze.”  Étienne’s voice was one reminiscent of a small child.

“Hmmm, I suppose we should move you to the middle… Cal?”

Calvin simply grunted.

“I’ll take that as approval then.” He felt Edward give him a small kiss on the cheek, and then a gap in warmth, and shuffling, until he felt Étienne beside him, snuggled up tight in the middle.

“Is that better, Teddy?” Edward murmured.

The only response was the even breathing of the other man.

Calvin’s false sleep was disturbed as he was unable to contain his question, “Wait, did you just call him Teddy?”  

Edward snorted, “Mmm yeah.”

“How many nicknames do y’all have for each other?”

Étienne sighed, and turned away.

“Uh – I dunno like at least five,” Edward responded.

Calvin was quiet for a moment contemplating, “So like can I call you two my two teddies?”

Étienne groaned in response, as Edward snorted. “Calvin and the Teddies sounds like a band.”

“Teddy One wants y’all to shut up and move in closer so I don’t freeze to death,” Étienne grumbled.

“How are you still cold?” Calvin asked as he shifted so that instead of laying beside Étienne he was more snuggled up.

“Don’t try to divine that answer, Cal,” Edward responded, “Étienne’s body works in mysterious ways. Fairly certain he is part cryptid.”

“Only part?” Étienne cheekily responded, which had them giggle.

“Honestly if I were a cryptid I would probably be a Sasquatch,” Edward confessed, “Live in the mountains all the time and not have anyone bug me.”

“I’d be Mothman,” Calvin added in.

“Why Mothman?”

“He’s so cool!”

Étienne snorted, “Please Calvin, wouldn’t you be a centaur.”

“Uh Étienne, I don’t think you quite understand what a cryptid is.”

“Is there a horse one? Cuz that’ll be you.”

Calvin hummed as he tried to think of one, “I don’t think so.”

“I swear I just read an internet post about one last week,” Edward murmured. After giving a frustrated sound, he then added, “But fuck me, can’t remember it.”

“Well he’s that one you can’t remember.” Étienne decided.

“So cryptid, doesn’t even have a name,” Calvin joked.

He was silent a moment, and then, began to hum.

Edward growled. “Calvin Brisebois McCall I swear to god-”

“Mothman! You’re a moth and a man,” Calvin began to sing aloud to the YMCA theme. Beside him Étienne made a sound of surprised laughter, while Edward wriggled so he could glare at him better.

“I swear if you’re going to continue –”

“I said Mothman! You’re a man who’s a moth-”

There was an eruption of action as Edward lunged across Étienne to attempt to strangle Calvin. It resulted in all their limbs tangling, with Edward laying half across a rather squished Étienne, Calvin working to wiggle out of the grasping hands as he continued to sing. However, Edward’s actions were hampered somewhat by Étienne, who was holding back one of his arms, as he began to hum the tune in harmony with Calvin’s singing.

“Boucles!! How could you betray me-” Edward exclaimed as the two men began to chant “M-O-T-H”

They continued to chant M-O-T-H until Edward, his struggles long turned into gasped laughter, gave in and began to mumble the lyrics to this stupid song Calvin was singing. Étienne didn’t know all the lyrics, supporting vocals, and then got inventive by creating verses which hadn’t even existed.

“Mothman! He swam the sea of Japan!” Étienne sang, Calvin cracking up beside him.

He then sang a different verse in French, barely able to get through it due to laughing at how funny he was, and then at the end mumbled to Calvin “I know you didn’t understand but it’s much funnier in the original language.”

To which Calvin responded “I got some of it-”

And Edward deadpan responded, “I know French and it wasn’t that good.” Which earned him an elbow in the side.

“Come on Neddy show me if you can do better,” Étienne challenged.

Huffing, Edward finally joined in making up some ridiculous lyrics, “Mothman! Annoying as you can-“

“Edward that doesn’t even make sense!” Calvin interjected.

“I just – let me finish!”

This went on for some time as each tried to top the other with more and more ridiculous lyrics, until finally, in what felt like an eternity, with Edward nestled on Étienne’s chest, the singing wound down.

They would be silent, until someone would start whispering some of the lyrics, and they would giggle, or join in. Edward made to shift off of Étienne, only to be trapped there by an arm firmly wrapped around his waist.

They all laughed slightly, and then let the silence of the night surround them. It was that mountain silence, where the wind rustled in the trees and you hear the night creatures scurrying. The type of sound where the crunch in the distance could either be a bear or someone heading to the washroom. The calming sounds as Calvin found himself gently lulled to sleep, his worries slipping away, as he felt Étienne shift next to him, his body warm. He half wished he was next to Edward, not entirely sure as to the boundaries of touch with this other man, and he nearly let out a small scream when he felt a hand ruffle his hair. Managing to keep it in he turned into the touch and realized it was in fact Edward.

With a sigh he peered in the gloomy darkness across Étienne to see Edward looking over at him with a sleepy smile, and his heart began to beat in rhythm again. That warm rhythm that seeped down into his stomach and down into his toes. Tilting his face enough he gave Edward’s wrist a small kiss in response, as his view then became obscured by a mass of curly hair as Étienne shifted once again, breaking their connected touch.

[quatschmachen]

Sparks

Continuation of Jasper pt 4

Masterpost

Hapo finally is allowing me to post this after being incredibly mean and forcing me to rewrite it like at least five (5) times.

Happy Monmonton day!

XXXXXX

The trees leant in around them and Edward was not sure whether they were trying to protect or simply listen in. Hand warm, fingers twined like roots with the other man’s; his heart in between beats, holding pieces of disbelief that this was actually happening. Irrationally he wondered if the trees would have the answers if he asked, if by opening his mouth the rustling of the branches, the fresh pine needles would form answers to the surge of worries that seemed released from the pit of his stomach in a herd of butterflies. He knew that to fully listen to what they had to say would involve complete alone time. He did not want to be alone, he was too enamoured with the warmth, where it felt like that part of him that he thought he had laid to rest, the part that had never rested easy, was exploding into new life again, where the possibilities were surging from his toes to the tips of his hair. He kept looking at the man beside him, the small smile, the sparkle in his eye, his mind internally screaming that there was no way this was real. That this was in fact a complete stranger next to him holding his hand, a stranger inhabiting the body of the man he had loved for so long, the man he thought he could never truly have.

The scent of the other man clung to his skin, lips plump from kissing, as the words kept wanting to pour out, he had over a decade to fully catch up, a decade to…  the words spoken on the mountain like the early spring torrents which turns the bank of the rivers soft and messy, where if you’re not careful your foot can sink up to your knee into the churned mud, the water once a trickle raging down flowing over the banks and flooding. The once sure path of the river broken, the water moving amongst the trees, depositing silt on the bike path, blocking the once true ways forcing one to turn back. It wasn’t simply flowers budding, or the birds swooping, it was the absolute mess of spring, where the potential screamed from the lilacs, but the winter mold still lurked in the shadows of the bushes with the not yet entirely melted snow.

When something good happened something worse would occur. That hollow pit in his stomach which he had gotten used to like a bad tooth, the one that he had assumed would be his eternal rock, when the words between them failed, it was uncomfortably blossoming, the hollows taking root through their twined fingers, and he was unsure if he was ready to change. The change so desperately desired was suddenly happening too fast, all his thoughts stuttering if the man he loved was the person or the memory, where the torrents of doubt eddied in his heart and mind. The uncomfortable gnawing at the bottom of his gut like the eternal serpent ready to spread in a conflagration of the soul, a soft guilt which had immediately settled down in the post orgasmic haze, the realization that he had crossed a line which could not be uncrossed – which he would not want to uncross ever. Unconsciously his grip slightly tightened as the slow burning panic began to set in, the panic which he absolutely could not fucking show because he knew it was unreasonable, unfounded. There had been discussions, it was not as if Calvin would not know about this. Perhaps… he hadn’t expected things to move so fast. Part of him could not believe that Calvin would actually be ok with it. He knew how insecure the other man was, how the veneer of confidence was only skin deep, where despite how much trust and growth in their relationship Edward still worried that beneath them instead of firm roots curling together it was the weakest of concrete easily battered away by the pounding waves of stress. He knew how Calvin cracked under stress, knew how despite the ever-present smile, that the slightest push would crack him like lightning.

His concern only grew as they approached the campsite. Thud. He was not sure if it was simply his heart or something else. Thud. It was not just his heart, Étienne seemed to notice it too. Thud. Glance shared, Étienne letting out a soft nervous chuckle. Thud.

The echo of rhythmic chopping surrounded them. It would pause, as the wood was changed and then start up again, as if whoever was chopping was getting ready for winter, the thud of the axe biting into the wood, splitting the log and as they got closer, the thunk as the wood hit the soft earth. It was a focused rhythm as if the person doing it was doing it for true survival and not pleasure.

His heart settled somewhere in his throat as the campsite came into view, his suspicions correct as he saw Calvin, t-shirt soaked through with sweat, in a steady stance, a pile of wood beside him, splitting the logs. Giving Étienne’s hand a reassuring squeeze, he let go, stepping apart self-consciously as if trying to pretend that nothing between them had happened. No major change. That he was not internally panicking, where the fears of once more losing everything appeared inside of him as he looked at the red face of Calvin, the sweat on his brow, his chest moving heavy as he breathed, shirt sticking to his chest in uneven wrinkles.

Taking in a slightly nervous breath and ignoring the quizzical look Étienne was giving him, Edward gathered what remained of his courage and strode forward,  his confident voice ringing forward like  a spoon hitting tin, “Goldilocks, you look as if we’re going to be buildin’ a cabin here with how much wood you’re chopping.”

Calvin carefully placed a wedge of wood into a split gently gave it a knock, the log splitting beautifully. Neatly he set the axe down on the ground, wiped his forehead and turned towards Edward, his eyes moving from Edward to Étienne, and back to Edward again, clearly searching for some sort of answer, worried brown eyes too easy to read, where the momentary hesitation was quickly covered by a brilliant smile, specifically to put everyone at ease. The bullshit smile Edward knew so well from the tense business negotiations, the one that after when in private Calvin would mention how he never thought he would pull that off ever, and then laugh nervously, asking whether the other party was a fucking idiot for even agreeing.

“Y’know how Mac likes his fires,” Calvin lightly joked, his voice rasping slightly.

Edward was already digging out his water bottle from his small backpack and offered it to Calvin who thankfully took it and messily swallowed large gulps of water which leaked from the corners of his mouth and hit his already wet shirt. Wiping his mouth on his arm, Calvin handed the nearly empty bottle back. Fingers brushing, Edward impulsively leant forward and placed a soft kiss upon his cheek, which flushed redder.

“Edward?” Calvin asked, the single word holding an eternity of questions.

“C’mon we need to talk.” He looked towards Étienne, giving a reassuring smile, “I just gotta fill him in.” Getting a nod from Étienne, who even if he was somewhat an idiot when it came to big important emotional things (perhaps Edward was still salty over certain scenarios), he was at least reasonable about it.

He guided Calvin away from the camp, to a place where they had more privacy, his fingers twining reassuringly with Calvin’s, standing amongst the pines.

Calvin seemed to be looking everywhere but him, the words timidly escaping clenched lips, “S-so how’d it go?”

Taking a deep breath, Edward said, “Well, you could say good,” he realized that there was going to be no pussy footing about this, that it was probably better to tear the band-aid off and get down to business, “We most definitely made up, enough to, uhm,” just saying the word suddenly felt embarrassing, but he knew that if he wanted to be open and honest with Calvin, he would have to say it, “have sex.”

Calvin stared at him in shock his entire face turning bright crimson, “You – you – you – and he – did it!??”

“Yeah.”

“But --- I thought that would come later – you mean you did it --- out in the open --- where people could see you!?”

“Well sort of, we were alone and y’know making up and stuff…” Edward shrugged, somewhat endeared by how embarrassed on their behalf Calvin was acting. Endeared but also worried as Calvin’s eyes filled with tears.

Calvin stared down at the ground, shoulders slumping, “Sex, huh? So… what does that mean for us?”

Rolling his eyes, Edward huffed, “I KNEW you were going to react this way even after the ten thousand assurances.”

His head snapped up as he looked Edward straight in the eye for the first time, “Act in what way?” came the heated childish defense as he furiously wiped at his eyes.

“Act like I’m going to run away and join the circus leaving you heavily pregnant with seven children,” Edward snapped. He knew his words hit home from the shocked expression on Calvin’s face and he decided to press on while he had the opportunity, “Which I’m not – Calvin.” He took in a breath, shifted so that they were closer, taking advantage of the fact that he had refused to let go of the other man’s hand the entire time, leaning up and placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m just gonna do what you suggested. The suggestion that I had outright refused at first…” settling back onto his heels, Edward looked away but realized he ought to be looking him in the eyes for this, said firmly, “I’m going to be with both of you.”  

“B-both?” Calvin sniffled, looking confused.

Gently, Edward reached up to brush away a tear, “I was hesitant because I knew you would react badly, that you seem to be under the impression that the minute I touch Étienne’s dick it’s over between us… Calvin… I love you for a multitude of reasons, I love you in ways I could never love Étienne, and I suppose it’s the same with him. You’re both unique individuals whom enrich my life and who I would terribly miss if you were gone from it.”

Surprise, then, “Oh.” Calvin was blushing furiously.

“Cal, look, you may be able to fool the others with your self-assured man-of-the-world act, but you’re not fooling me and I know you’ve been worried sick about this the entire time, even when you’ve been acting like some sort of strange matchmaker,” Edward slipped his arms around Calvin’s waist, and leant his head upon the taller man’s chest, “Which is why I took so long to make up my goddam mind, and honestly I hadn’t even made it up when you did your over-dramatic act about napping in the tent-”

“Actually I did nap I’d like to have you know-”

“-over dramatic still.” Edward murmured as he placed a soft kiss on Calvin’s neck, and then cheek, chin, nose, and finally his mouth. “I love you, even if you are stupid and insecure.”

“Thanks,” Calvin grumped, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Am I really that obvious?”

“To me you are. I’ve been watching you fake it ‘til you make it ever since you were a kid trying to be Chicago,” Edward grinned, “In my opinion you became even better than Chicago, a lot hotter as well.”

Calvin squirmed slightly, and finally, returned the embrace, his arms encircling the smaller man, hands rather proprietarily resting on his butt.  “You sure know what to say to put a man at ease there, pardner. Maybe I should be worried you’re going to be out there seducing every man that crosses your path.”

“I could if I wanted to,” Edward seriously responded, but it was given away by the small smile he couldn’t quite contain, “But between you and Étienne I have my hands full, you two are grade-A drama queens.”

“D-drama queens?” Calvin choked in mock outrage, “I’ll have you know my dramatic performances have sealed many a deal for my company - which helped build your swanky eco house I might add.”

“Our swanky eco house,” Edward corrected.

“Our swanky eco house,” Calvin repeated slowly, and then softly smiled, “so you’re not ditching me to move to Morial to live with your no-good man who drinks too much and sleeps with anyone but you?”

“Hey that’s pretty damning,” Edward joked, “No, I’m not ditching you, I promise. Hell, I’ll even seal the deal with a high-speed train on it.”

Snorting, Calvin murmured, “That’s a real sweet promise but that’s been in talks for ages, I’m not so sure about the follow through.”

“Looks like you’ll have to keep me accountable then,” Edward teased, “keep checking up on me to keep that promise.”

“I suppose I will…” Calvin paused, “Hey so uhm, changing topic but how the hell is this supposed to work, us sharing a tent and all if you two are gonna be all mushy and stuff, because while I will accept you being in a relationship with another man, I swear to god if you’re going to be having sex right beside me I will break both your legs.”

Edward rolled his eyes, “Oh my god Calvin, we’re not idiots, I just figured I would sleep between ya and we will be a snuggle pile. We’ll obviously fuck in the showers or something, y’know, more private,” he winked as he said this, enjoying the shocked expression on Calvin’s face, “ In the tent though… Maybe some stolen kisses?”

“Only if I also get some stolen kisses will I approve of this plan.” Calvin firmly stated.

“Please, you’ll end up in your usual position spooning my back, kissing my neck,” Edward teased.

“You complaining about that position now?”

“Not complaining, just stating fact…” Edward paused looking deeply into Calvin’s brown eyes, thinking how lucky he was to be with this man. This understanding man who kept him by not chaining him to his side, a relationship of choice and consent, where each day waking up next to him was a considered decision, a sense of safety and peace. “So… if you could please not kill Étienne…”

Calvin raised an eyebrow, “Well I dunno… I think red might be his colour.”

Edward rolled his eyes.

“But seriously – uhm so if you and Étienne are boyfriends… what am I to him?”

“Shit, I didn’t think that far – whatever you want it to be?” Edward frowned, “You could be his boyfriend or just friend. We have time to figure that stuff out, don’t we? I mean – we can all grow together and whatever settles into place is it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Ed….”

“Mmm?”

“Why are you walking so weird…”

Edward sighed, “I threw my back out fucking…”

A loud peal of laughter came from Calvin, “Oh my god, you literally injured your back fucking in the woods?!”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Never!” Calvin teased as he bear-hugged Edward and lifted him, giving him a slight twirl.

“C-calvin—” Edward laughed, “Put me down!”

Calvin squeezed hard and then gently put him down. “Alright… so basically you can’t get wood or chop wood or anything because you’re too old to fuck?”

“Hey, excuse me,” Edward lightly slapped Calvin.

“Fine I’ll get your new boy toy to help me, unless he also is crippled? Geez I guess he is older than you… so perhaps… he managed to break something? “

“No… he’s fine I think…” Edward grumbled as they returned to the camp. Étienne was sitting on a log smoking, his face slightly worried, but the expression shifted as they came to view, quickly covering up whatever it was he may have been thinking.

“Yooo Etsy,” Calvin grinned as he picked up the axe, “I’m gonna have to take you out into the woods for a bit and use your body since Eddy here is an old man.”

Étienne’s eyes slowly moved from the glistening blade of the axe, over to Edward who didn’t seem worried that Calvin just invited him into some unknown woods with an axe and stood up.

“Sure.” He stretched like a cat, then walked over to Edward, “Hey do you have your thing?”

Edward frowned, “Thing?”

“The little cigarette thing you keep using.”

“Oh right.” Edward sheepishly glanced at Calvin as he dug out the container and opened it so that Étienne could safely deposit it. While he was focused on that Étienne leant in and snuck a kiss, which he murmured was ‘for luck.’ Edward blushed a deep crimson as he fumbled with the container as he placed it back into his pocket.

Étienne had smoothly moved away, gently mussing Calvin’s hair. “What do you need me to do?”

Calvin frowned at Étienne, as he attempted to pat his hair back into some sort of order, as he began to walk away from the camp, “Carry wood.”

“I’ve been known to do that,” Étienne joked feeling slightly disappointed when Calvin didn’t even crack a smile.  There was still a tense set to the other man’s shoulders, and logically he knew nothing much should happen, but he still had issues reading him. Calvin was like a sunshower to him, smiling brightly while still projecting the opposite of his claims.

What had Edward had told Calvin? What he should or shouldn’t say? The once sure lines between them had become blurred, and there was a part of him, the one that had been slowly warming up to the man, enjoying his company as a friend, that wondered with the lines changing, if he had lost even that.

The ground beneath them was soft, the pine needles scattered across the dirt track, as Étienne followed, with only the vaguest ideas of where the woodpile might be.

Calvin’s pace slowed, allowing Étienne to catch up easier, and Calvin shot him a sly look, his cheeks slightly flushed as if he was still trying to find words to fit his meanings, until finally he managed to shyly say, “Edward told me you two uh fuh--… really made up.”

Étienne frowned trying to interpret it, then asked for clarification, “You mean he said we had sex?”

Calvin brightly coloured, “Yes. But! But – I –I meant more that you two finally confessed undying love and uhm stuff.”  He was firmly looking away, but his ears were burning that bright red that Étienne had associated with Calvin being massively uncomfortable.

Feeling lightheaded and not sure what to respond, the words on the mountaintop suddenly feeling thousands of years away, a dreamlike quality settling over them, Étienne tried to root himself, figure out where to grasp onto from here.

“Yeah… what…what are you trying to say?” He asked warily.

Calvin abruptly stopped, Étienne nearly crashing into him, his nose smushing into Calvin’s warm arm, giving him that strong scent of natural salty odour mixed with the fresh mountain air and something sweet he could not quite name.

Rubbing his nose as he regained his balance, Étienne looked at the other man’s pensive face, his gaze dropping to Calvin’s fingers fidgeting along the smooth wooden handle of the axe, fingers which rubbed with the thumb moving in wide circles.

Realizing what Étienne was looking at, Calvin hefted the axe onto his shoulder, the better to hide his hand behind his head, as he looked at Étienne, carefully choosing the words. The words not coming, and the arm tiring, Calvin once more lowered the axe, this time, the head tumping onto the ground lightly by his foot as he let it stand upright between them, his hand releasing the handle as it balanced upon its heavy head.

Soft brown eyes finally focused on him, and finally, quietly, he began. “For a long time you two have been unhappy. No matter what I did, even though I knew Edward loved me, there was a part of him that was consistently unhappy because of how things went between you two.” He paused to draw in a shaky breath, as if the words were being pulled out of him like taffy, “I’m only allowing this because I want Edward to be truly happy, and while, I would have preferred to have him all to myself… I don’t own him.” A small sigh, his gaze wavering as if he was still not entirely sure how to continue, but once the words started to come they just didn’t seem to stop, reluctantly leaving him one molasses word at a time, “I would rather share him with you than accidentally come upon him in the middle of the night crying as he crouches in front of the wood heated oven trying to cook bagels.” As Étienne started in surprise, Calvin raised an eyebrow, as if to silently confirm that had in fact actually happened. His voice took on a slight urgency, as he tried to express how important it was that Étienne really listen to what he was saying, his hand reached out and grasped the man’s shoulder tightly,  “You are part of him that I probably will never truly know and… I’ve had time to become ok with that, in fact I’ve had to become ok with that. However…” his gaze flickered down to the axe between them, then back up at him, his once expressive face hardening, his thumb uncomfortably pressing into Étienne’s fleshy shoulder, “If you fuck around with this, especially now you two have managed to get your heads out of your asses, if you… decide to back out and not take Edward up on his offer…” He took a heavy breath his lower lip trembling, the next words coming out in that strange even tone of someone trying not to cry, “I am not going to give you a second chance.”

To say the words hit him heavy would be understating the impact. Étienne knew that Calvin was dead serious, and after swallowing and attempting to get his heart beat under control (he was at this point not sure if it was fear, or attraction to a man who would so fiercely protect Edward he would wordlessly threaten death), that Étienne gave a nod of understanding.

“I would have you know that I plan to be a very irritating part of your life from here on in,” Étienne smoothly purred, still conscious of the man’s tight grip on his shoulder. “You’ll regret even giving me one chance.”

Calvin’s grip slightly loosened as he quietly asked, “And why would I regret that, Maisonneuve?”

The words slipped out before he could even think them through, “I’m better left behind, all I do is create pain—” his eyes widened, as he realized the words, and he tried to save it, his smile cocky, “-since I’m gonna fuck your boyfriend raw.”

Calvin’s eyes narrowed, his hand shifting from the shoulder to grip Étienne’s chin lightly, inspecting the other man intently, as if he could see through the slips, go through the cracks that Étienne so tightly held together with twine, “Bucko boy, y’aint got nothing on my youthful vigor. While you’re recovering in a chair after round one, Eddy’s gonna be wanting the younger stallion.”

“You wish.” Étienne challenged.

Releasing him, Calvin picked up the axe, turned, and gave a shrug, “We’ll see if you can actually keep your promises then.”

“There’s only two things I’m good at, I’ll have you know, Fucking people and fucking up.” Étienne proudly announced.

“Guess I’ll just have to hope you live up to your name and fuck up fucking then!” Calvin teased.

There was a somewhat less tense silence as they reached to wood pile, Calvin piling the logs up into Étienne’s bag and then arms.

“Uhm how much wood do we need, fairly certain Edward was right about the log cabin?”

Rolling his eyes, Calvin said, “Fine, we do have enough… I’m just enjoying weighing you down to ensure you don’t run away… I guess we better get back to the camp before Edward thinks I’ve murdered you with an axe.”

“There are worse ways to go, but I’m not sure its safe to roast weenies over bloodsoaked logs.”

“It could be interesting?”

“Interesting?” Étienne huffed as he shifted the logs, trying to keep pace with Calvin’s longer strides.

“Maybe that could be made into a candle scent too…” Calvin mused.

“I swear to god if you are going to use my blood soaked logs to be the next goddam Canuck candle, it better be maple wood logs.”

“I promise,” Calvin glanced back his grin wide, his wink not reassuring.

“You say that with a smile of a liar!” Étienne accused, “You need to fully promise!”

“Oh my god, I promise on Edward Augustus Murphy’s Sasakatoon Rhubarb Pie I will proactively soak some maple logs with your blood and then convert that into a candle smell.”

“Good! Also… that pie sounds good, when does he make it?”

“Oh, now? Well we’re camping, but he makes pies whenever… it’s sort of really great living with him,” Calvin modestly stated.

“Yeah no shit.”

“Mm enough to move out west for?”

“Hmmm, too bad I live in the best city, so therefore… no.” Étienne responded.

Rolling his eyes, Calvin looked forward again, and then exclaimed, “Oh hey! Camp!”

A loud bark informed him that the others were back from the walk, and as the sky started to streak with the purples and pinks of the slowly setting sun, he realized that despite all his wondering about Calvin he actually felt rather relaxed about everything. For the first time in a very long time, he had the slightest of hopes that things would work out as they should.

“Jaysus almighty, how much wood we needs eh?” Mac exclaimed as he walked into view with a tray of steaks. “Didn’ think we’s moved ta here!”

Calvin rolled his eyes, “You know how it is! It’s better to stock up and be prepared!”

As the food cooked, Étienne found himself employed in keeping the fire burning, finding himself not exactly participating into the conversation, but more of an observer. Sitting on the log he watched the others take up the various roles in preparing the food, his mind turning blank and fuzzy, unable to really think too much at the moment, simply being in the moment, content. His mind kept wanting to focus on the conversation with Calvin, but whenever he thought too hard about it, his focus would slip, or the dog would bark, or Caroline would tell a particularly funny joke. Sitting back to let Mac move the grill over the fire, Étienne let out a sigh, realizing that the tension he had been carrying for the past few weeks had mostly gone. Perhaps… things were actually going to be ok.

Not perfect… he glanced over to Edward who was surreptitiously sitting near him on the log, his preparation duties done. Moving his fire stick to his other hand, Étienne casually moved his hand closer to Edward’s, fingers barely touching, simply waiting, watching from the corner of his eye as Edward shifted, his hand conveniently overlapping his… but enough.

The sparks flew up into the darkening sky, the trees around them tall soldiers, the fire turning more brilliant as the steaks hissed and sizzled.

[quatschmachen]

Reconcile

This follows Deliverance.

1980s fic. Masterpost.

XXXXX

“Étienne.”

“Édouard!!!” his name had become a whoop as Étienne forcefully pulled himself up onto the table, his boot thunking onto the heavy wood tabletop. With a feline like grace he stood and took the two direct steps across it to Edward, crouched down, looked him directly in the eye. His eyes had a slightly manic light to them as he leant forward and cupped Edward’s face; he studied the man intently, almost as if he half expected it not to actually be him. Étienne’s hands were warm, pressing into Edward’s cool cheeks a little too firmly.

“It is you!” He turned to his group of friends, “I’VE FOUND HIM!” who in turn cheered. With little to no grace, Étienne slid off the table and onto Edward’s lap, his bony ass digging into Edward’s thigh, with a plop. Back pressed into Edward’s side, sitting sideways, legs slightly sticking out from the booth, Edward instinctively wrapped his arm around the man’s tiny waist, feeling how his bones prominently pressed into him.

Turning back to Edward he began to excitedly babble, his words almost not processing in Edward’s daze as he was still trying to catch up on finding Étienne again. “I saw you were having a lot of fun with Albert at the orgy --- how was it? I assumed you left with him, and you know how it goes, figured I too would have fun,” Étienne cast a glance at a handsome fellow sitting across from them, “Gregoire is quite an ample lover, spent the rest of the night and morning at his place, I strongly suggest him as a good fuck if you wanted to try. Hung like a horse and knows what to do with his mouth.”

Tuning in more, Edward frowned slightly, “You left the orgy?”

“Of course, why not?” Étienne laughed, “You know how to take care of yourself, you had disappeared as well… might as well have fun while we’re still young right?”

Looking at his sharp profile, Edward felt a torrent of emotions swirling inside of him, the questions heatedly bubbling inside. If he waited too long, he felt like all the words would get sucked down into the watery grave of Charybdis, the yapping dogs of Scylla in the distance echoing all the words he should have said. Words like ‘why did you leave me’ seemed insufficient. He had planned to yell at Étienne, to ask him why, to question the abandonment. A part of him wanted to make Étienne feel just as shitty as he had felt over the past 12 hours or so. Another part of him cautioned that if he were to act like the stroppy boyfriend now, Étienne would never invite him again. Étienne did not want someone who wanted to hold him accountable, and Edward was terrified if he let the other man know how upset he really was, his entire heart would be laid open, beating in the cold night air, steam rising with each thud,  thud, thud, only to be scraped raw by the snowplough of Étienne’s indifference, covering the raw bleeding organ with the dirty icy shards of the road, the salt burning holes into nothing would be left.

Suppressing his boiling feelings, realizing that even if he were to bring it up, ask about the abandonment, it wouldn’t matter. Étienne had simply assumed he had gone off to have his own fun, a situation that was not out of the norm. Étienne was not his keeper, lover, or parent. Simply a friend. An old friend. One who seemed to think that Edward Augustus Murphy had enough suaveness to pull off getting taken home by some dude whom he only had indistinct memories of. The green in Étienne’s eyes caught in the changing club lights, easy to see as the other man was not wearing his glasses, and Edward realized how absolutely tired he looked. If Étienne opened up a couture shop, he could sell the bags out from under his eyes. His cheeks were pale, and his body was trembling with drugs.

“Yeah you’re right,” Edward managed to grin, his gaze lingering on Gregoire in what he hoped could be read as desire and not him wanting to simply tear the man apart. Good time, huh? Étienne looked like shit. Once he was certain he could have his emotions under control, he nuzzled Étienne’s neck, feeling the man shudder, as he murmured, “Don’t want to be a drag, but do you have anything to give me a really good buzz? My coke’s wearing off…”

“You’ve asked exactly the right person,” Étienne purred.

XXXX

In between here and there was simply sensations; the light on skin, the salted taste of a kiss, the ache in the calves from dancing, and a warm hand on his ass. The room of the club seemed to expand and contract, becoming a space of echoing noise where whatever was spoken was lost in the fray. Edward found himself out on the street calf-deep in the continually falling snow, dragging the scarf tighter around his neck. Étienne was next to him, humming some tune that was so out of date Edward could remember how to play the fiddle to it.

“Do you think we should cab it or walk?” Edward slurred, as Étienne finally seemed to focus back on him.

“Seeing as we do not have the devil around to make any deals with to fly home, I suppose a cab would be best,” Étienne stated, as he started humming again, the tune infectious. Edward found himself humming along, until at some point, neither of them knew when, they were singing the lyrics, arms linking, partially to be steady and partially for warmth.

Étienne’s voice abruptly trailed off as he flagged down a cab. Clambering into it, Étienne gave his address, and the vehicle after a moment started slowly down the snowy street.

If his brain was functioning properly Edward would have rebelled against Étienne’s arm continuing to be linked in his, inside the cramped space of the cab, but with the snow falling, the radio inside the nicotine interior of the cab softly playing, and the smoke curling from the cabbie’s cigarette, he found himself not caring.  He shifted his fogged-up glasses, irritated at the condensation, knowing that if he were to rub them it would only leave a smear, so he compromised by moving them to the top of his head, leaving the world with the soft edges of his imperfect sight. This was nice, this moment in between, where he could let his brain go blank as he looked out to the moving city, the lights twinkling in the distance, the other vehicles of the night moving past. In the distance the mountain loomed, dark enveloped in the snowy cover, the top hidden by heavy clouds and the inevitable invisibility given by the fat flakes falling out of the sky.  Glass cold against his cheek, Edward could feel Étienne shift, head resting on his shoulder, his body going loose in sleep. Tilting his glasses down, Edward looked down at the man, the vision still slightly hindered by the condensation, but he could see enough. Enough to look back out the window, until finally they pulled into smaller twining streets, where the houses connected and whose metal staircases spiraled up, icy steps of death, beautiful in the falling snowlight.

Paying the fare, Edward roused Étienne. Getting out of the vehicle was the awkward dance of trying to open the door being unable to due to the giant snow mound, the cabbie having to pull off more to the middle of the road, opening the door again, and setting foot down into more snow. Étienne had perked up at the freezing cold air, stepping out onto the road, scolding Edward for paying, and then with balance that shocked Edward, leaping over the snow pile, and then letting out a shriek of surprise as the snow puffed up his pants.

Laughing, Edward more carefully crossed the snow mound, enjoying the string of swears issuing from the other man.

Étienne scowled at him and with inhuman speed bent and threw a spray of snow at Edward, letting out a laugh as it hit him in the face.

“Hey!”

Étienne was already trying to quickly move through the snow towards the door as Edward bent and picked up the snow, knowing it was not the right type of snow to be formed into a snowball, but trying anyways. With a disappointing puff it missed Étienne by a wide margin.

Spurred on by the other man’s taunting laugh, Edward hurtled through the snow, and tackled him into the nearest snow mound, Étienne shrieking in surprise and laughter, the actions knocking Edward’s glasses askew, as they each began to pile snow into every open crevice possible, wrestling and rolling, the snow falling down the exposed necks, and shifting up the untucked pant legs. Washing Étienne’s face in the snow, Edward gave an ‘oof’ of surprise as Étienne flipped him, returning the favour.  Squirming and trying to escape each movement managing to get more snow up and down his jacket, he finally pleaded defeat.

With triumph Étienne let him go and flumped on his back onto the snow beside him grinning. “You should know better than to even challenge me.”

Raising his eyebrows at that, Edward shifted and swiftly jammed a large fistful of snow up Étienne’s jacket, aiming perfectly to not only get it under the jacket but under the man’s shirt.

Shrieking bloody murder, Étienne struggled, his sounds of protests turning into rather hysterical laughter, which Edward answered, as their frozen red hands continued to try to smother the other in snow, until finally, exhausted they lay there tangled, Étienne’s curls tickling Edward’s nose, the only sound an occasional bubble of laughter.

“My god I can’t feel my hands… or my face,” Edward murmured.

“I think my entire ass has frozen off,” Étienne replied.

“We should probably move.”

“Are we physically capable of such a feat?”

Edward attempted to shrug, and then, with a groan, managed to lift himself up. “We are capable of anything if it means I can pee without freezing my dick off.”

“That is the most common-sense thing I’ve heard all week,” Étienne responded as he sat up, and then made grabby hands at Edward to help him up.

Managing to pull the other man up and not entirely losing his balance, Edward leant on Étienne as they made it the few final steps to the man’s front door.

Struggling with the key, Edward helped steady Étienne’s arm to get the key into the lock. Together they unlocked the front door and pushed inside the warm habitation.

Edward’s glasses immediately fogged up as the door shut behind them. Stomping and knocking the snow off his boots, he began to undo the zipper of his jacket, his cold fingers not easily following his commands.

“Let me help,” Étienne’s hands somehow were slightly warmer, and together they unzipped his jacket.

There was a silence, one which Edward was not sure how to interpret, he could barely see the frown on Étienne’s face through the tiny defogged portion of his glasses.

“Edward… why are you wearing two jackets?”

“Hm?” Looking down he frowned, lifted his glasses so he could see, squinted.  “Where did my jacket come from? Why am I wearing it?”

Étienne’s fingers had grabbed onto what was visible of the grey wool jacket, “You’re wearing one of my jackets! How? What?” “Well I stopped by today and got a jacket because I lost my jacket, but you haven’t explained why I’m managing to wear both of them?”

“Shit, it was dark in the bar and I gave you your jacket and you put it on…”

Edward attempted to think back to the bar, it was simply a blending of situations, where at some point the two of them had decided to leave, getting the jacket from the check, and then simply taking the jacket Étienne handed him, actions he hadn’t even thought about, his mind swimming with alcohol and drugs, simply accepting things without question.

“But how…”

“Because I had it?”

“How the hell did you have my jacket? I thought I’d lost it.”

“I had it. If I had it, I would find you again,” came the simple answer. “How did you get into my place? What happened to Albert?”

“Oh y’know I woke up and wanted to go back to your place so I did… Élyse was here…” Edward avoided Étienne’s probing gaze as he continued to undress, “It worked out.”

Shrugging off his jacket he hung it on the hook, his cold fingers grasping at the buttons of the other one.

“Hm. Good thing Élyse was here…” Étienne made a low hmming sound as if he was trying to think of something, “I should see if I have a spare key for next time in case we get separated again, I don’t want your ass frozen to my front step.”

“Yeah I s’pose,” Edward yawned as he struggled to get out of the second jacket. Étienne helped him out, and then finally hung that one up.

As they finished undressing, Étienne kept frowning slightly, as if the words he had said weren’t the ones on his mind, and as Edward moved out away from the front, he wondered if he should bother asking. Sometimes with Étienne it was better to leave things unsaid.

[quatschmachen]

Deliverance

Continuation of Testament.

Masterpost

1980′s fic.

XXXX

He thanked the one star which had not fallen out of the sky and which apparently was looking out for him that the lineup was not out the door. Squishing into the noisy restaurant, Edward looked around at the busy tables wondering if there was any place for him to sit. The server came up to him, and inquired how many there were to be seated. Edward responded it was simply himself. The server nodded, asked him to wait, and after a moment returned.

Was it alright if he sat with some others? The place was so busy – needed to use all the places necessary- Edward nodded. He had accepted that whatever day this was, he could not exactly count on the star the was looking out above him to give him the best scenario. It had probably hidden behind a cloud. Frankly he did not care where he sat so long as food appeared before him. He wanted food so that he could drink, and, catching sight of a clock, in a few hours time have enough of an excuse to go out to a bar and find some more drugs. Maybe find a few people to fuck. A part of him was also thinking about where he could find Étienne, but as he scanned the restaurant was disappointed. Not here either.

Nodding to the three other people already seated with menus in front of them, Edward settled down, wondering if he should strike up a conversation or something. Instead he buried his face in the menu, even though he already knew exactly what he wanted. When the server came, he ordered, and then awkwardly listened into their conversation. It seemed they were debating about the best place to listen to live jazz. Despite himself, Edward found himself getting interested.

One of the debaters brought up a place where he had had a particularly terrible time, and forgetting himself Edward found himself saying, “No, not there, the acoustics are all wrong.”

The three of them turned to look at him, as if realizing that he was actually there, existing amongst them.

About to backtrack, Edward was interrupted by the blonde lady, “He’s right you know, remember when we went to see Marie Sinclair? Terrible service as well.”

Edward shifted, “Oh when did you see her? Was it earlier this year?”

The lady nodded, “It was during jazz fest, one of the off-shoot performances.”

“Oh, me too! I went with Étienne, my friend.” Edward exclaimed becoming more invested in this conversation, “Was it… god I forget which night, but I remember after there was that terrible storm?”

“My god – we were there too! What are the chances we end up here together of all places?”

Their conversation was interrupted as the food was laid out before them.

“Her performance was stunning despite the location,” the red bearded male enthused in between bites of his poutine.

“Forgive my friends and their rudeness,” the third woman butted in, her bangles clanking together, “I’m Nemeah, the blonde is Francine, and that idiot there is Rupert.”

“Edward.”

“Your French is pretty good, but you’re clearly not from here,” Nemeah said, “Where exactly?”

“Ah is my accent that bad? I thought I was getting better, I’m from,” he paused as he briefly considered lying, “out west – Alberta.”

“Ohhh, I didn’t think they spoke French there.”

Edward rolled his eyes, with the words leaving him before he had even given them a thought, “Actually northern Alberta has quite a large French population, just because Quebec doesn’t give a shit about the rest of Canada doesn’t mean us other Canadian francos don’t exist.”  Instantly regretting his cutting remarks he was about to backtrack when Francine let out a high pitched laugh.

“Oh – don’t mind me!” She managed to gasp out, “I’m from New Brunswick and I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

A small flood of relief warmed him inside, and Edward awkwardly smiled, “It’s a pity y’know – without the support of Quebec for the other Canadian francos, our culture is slowly getting eradicated; who knows what the future will hold… in being so short-sighted, Quebec is literally making sure it’s the last French holdout in Canada.”

Francine nodded vigorously, “If these two try to give you any trouble, I’m on your side.”

Nemeah and Rupert shared a glance, and then Nemeah said, “We have no issue, I mean, I guess the facts speak for themselves.”

Rupert added, “We’re in Montréal, most hated city of Quebec, never French enough while being in the damn province.”

Snorting in laughter Edward muttered, “My friend complains about that all the time, if he could get any more French he would have been born in Europe.”

“Apparently I don’t count as proper Quebecois due to my Scottish parents,” Rupert added, “Guess it’s time to move to Toronto huh?”

Edward winked, “How about out west? I’m sure you’d do well on a rig.”

“White collar work for me only please!”

Their conversation continued as they finished their meal, and Edward was a little sad when their bill arrived. They had been good company and he had a dread of once more finding himself on his own. As they put on their jackets and squeezed out of the restaurant, Edward looked at them awkwardly.

“Well I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yes it was lovely meeting you,” Nemeah smiled. The others waved and they split off in different directions. Edward watched them for a moment walking away, until he hunkered down slightly, and turned towards the park.  A part of him wanted to impulsively call out to them, ask them what their plans were, maybe he could join? The rational part acidly stated that he was a sorry sight and no one in their right mind would actually want to spend more time with him. With a heavy sigh he trudged in the opposite direction.  The sky was darkening as the sun set, the lights in the park not yet blinking on. The sky was that cottony heavy grey which promised more snow. Edward hoped it would be the fluffy kind, not the slush that climbs into your boot, seeps down your neck, and sinks deep into your bones. His feet lead him to where he wanted in the park, and he covertly looked at the other men, wondering if Étienne was cruising. After a half hour, Edward found himself in the public bathroom, and he peeked in to see if anyone was yet making use of the glory hole. No one.

Washing his hands, he looked in the cracked mirror, the faint washroom light casting his face into shadows, more grey than yellow, hiding the grime of the washroom in the dimness, the shadows under his eyes mere smudges, as for a brief moment he made eye contact with his reflection as he wondered what to do next. Where the hell would Étienne be? He felt almost in a free fall, where the Host had simply stepped out, and he was there trying to step in, entertain the guests, but the guests were bored, spoiling for a fight, some were leaving, and he was there trying to keep them inside because he promised the Host would return, and fun would return. Except the disaffected crowd was himself, and he had come to Montreal to escape from his real life. It was difficult to escape from life when he was alone, his shadowed thoughts coming forward heavily with their crushing weights as the should-haves and need-to-dos began to take on their hulking forms. He didn’t want to be with himself, did not want to even confront whatever it was he was hiding from. With Étienne he could be… someone interesting. Or at least pretend to be.

And now without him lost in the labyrinthine city which held promises of freedom, but at the moment only seemed to contain dead ends wherever he turned, he wondered if his desperation to find the other man was simply a desperation to escape himself.  Drying his hands, he turned away from the mirror, and stepped out back into the dark night. His eyes focusing on the softly falling snow, glad it was cold enough to be fluffy. The park looked somewhat enchanted with the dim glowing street lights in the distance, the shadows of men passing and then sometimes coming together.  All around him it was a land painted in black and white, the starkness of the snow turning the shadows deeper as if he were to step off the enchanted path he would be crossing the midnight black walls of Erebus and forever be lost in the underworld. Should he continue looking or? He could be looking for Étienne forever and a day, Edward realized, and each step he could be taking could be in the exact opposite direction of where the other man could be. Perhaps it was time to accept that his Host, his distraction, the kaleidoscope of the man from whom he could sense an entirely different universe, had not only stepped out for a moment, but instead had simply forgotten about him.

The night was still young, and as his feet crunched on the ice, he pondered upon his next course of action. It was getting colder and Edward figured Élyse had probably left Étienne’s place by now, no point in going back. He did not favour sitting outside, ass freezing on the metal stairs, he was craving warmth, a closeness, drugs which could tamp down the thoughts he did not want to think about. His feet seemed to know where he wanted to go, taking him out of the park leading him to the Main and to outside one of the gay clubs Étienne had taken him to earlier. A drink wouldn’t hurt he figured, maybe help him make up his mind. Entering the dimly lit club, he checked his coat in, and navigated past the warm bodies toward the bar. The bartender was cute and easy to flirt with, amenable to his questions about where one could get some help in ‘having fun’ around here. A pointed nod to one of the back booths, where a heavy set man seemed to be having a steady stream of club goers, to which Edward easily slipped into, the haggling was brief, the man knew that Edward was an easy mark, a man desperate for something hard. Laying out the lines, Edward methodically snorted it with eased practice, wiping his nose, and giving the man a perfunctory nod, as he stood up slightly unsteadily from the booth as he started to feel the effect of the drug taking hold, his worries dimly folding into the background.

Forgetfulness can come in waves. Forgetting in the arms of another man, your body trembling in the hot club, lips seeking what words could not find. Forgetting as your eyes close, where sight is no longer your main sense, where touch, taste and smell take over. Forgetting as you take another hit. Forgetting in the feel of the cold air hitting your skin, his stubble brushing against your own, cracked lips pressed against the ear, breathing heavy, the harsh brick imprinting rubbing raw that exposed part of your back as the shirt rides up, legs awkwardly cramped up, as the other man takes you. Forgetting as your legs shake as the other man leaves you to go inside, and you lean against the wall as nausea takes over and you’re bending over, trying not to stain your shoes puking your guts out, the acidic taste filling your mouth. He knew he needed more, could feel the dark undertows of the low tugging at him. Perhaps he should find someone to go home with, forget what his mission was. His mind fuzzy trying to remember what the mission was, who he was looking for, what he was running from. Hands scrambling as he zipped up his jeans, wanting a hit of any kind. Taking a moment to light up, as the name returned to him, the name strung together with combating emotions, that he did not know what to feel. The nicotine helped.

Re-entering the club, his mission was to drink anything to remove the aftertaste. The whiskey cleansed, burning through his mouth down his throat, setting a warm fire inside of his roiling stomach, pushing forgetfulness back in. The agenda of tonight was fun, he had decided to drop his quarry, part of him realizing that if not found it would simply be a wasted night when he really should be taking every moment he could before he was back west, back to being good and the man he was supposed to be. Moving back onto the dance floor, he easily fell into rhythm with another handsome man, leaning in, letting the physical touch dominate all else, his body ready to be used and abused. The other man smelt heavily of body spray, as Edward leant into him, eyes closed as he simply wanted to touch.

A loud party of people had entered the club, raucous laughter, forcing Edward to open his eyes, watching as their group moving through the dance floor to find a table to dominate. They seemed a swirl of colour in the blue-greys of the club, a literal insurgence of chance, as if they had accidentally wandered into the wrong club. In the middle of the thiasos there seemed to be someone they were orbiting, hidden by the moving bodies, but the centre of their group, capturing Edward’s attention. Very drunkenly a voice asked who the hell was serving in this place, and if they could get some goddam service. The song had ended, and Edward slowly withdrew from his dance partner, almost hypnotized by this burst of colour; as he moved towards them, he could feel the energy and frivolity he desired. A group to get lost in. Not asking permission, he simply merged himself into the group, sitting with them at the booth, thighs touching, as their conversation chattered onward, as he blearily looked at their handsome faces, basking in their abundant happiness, and finally finding the centre, wondering who it was, his eyes met familiar hazel ones, his breath drew up short.

It couldn’t be.

Somewhere he was vaguely aware that his heart had stopped beating, only to charge forward once more like a steam train as his name left the other man’s mouth.

“Édouard?”

[quatschmachen]

Tangles

A small late Christmas Monmonton fic. Takes place in 1984.

Masterpost

XXXXX

Outside the wind was blowing the cold snow across the street, whipping the drifts across the sidewalk, where a once cleanly shoveled pavement was once again covered in the light crystalline fluff not yet crushed underfoot of passersby.

Inside the home the tree was fresh, standing there bare, slightly pulled out from the corner, close to the crackling fireplace. It seemed rather forlorn amongst the festively decorated house, where popcorn garlands and handmade stockings hung.

Across the room Étienne and Samuel had entered into a heated argument as to how to decorate the tree. Edward was helping Jacques put the bubble lights on, or more honestly, untangle the bubble lights and test them. Somehow in detangling, the lights had wrapped around his elbow with one of the bubblers poking him in the bicep.

<Let me help you with that,> Jacques said as he gently lay down his section to untangle Edward.

<Tell me… do they always do that?> Edward nodded to where Étienne had grabbed the box of ornaments and was holding them hostage to an ever increasingly angry Samuel.

<Oh yes. Samuel wants the pure aesthetic of themed coloured ornaments, Étienne wants memories.>

<So… what happens?>

Jacques took a moment to respond, as he worked out one of the more complicated tangles.

<Usually Samuel ends up winning, but somehow during the middle of the night, all the old ornaments also get put on… a mystery.>

<Why do they need to fight if it’s the same result each year?> Edward was feeling like a fish out of water having come to this intimate family gathering. He was still baffled as to why they had invited him, but anything to escape the awkward Christmas with Edith he would take. Christmases at his place had never been the same since his time in the asylum.  He sensed that Edith had been privately relieved as well when he had informed her of his invitation to elsewhere.  The invitation elsewhere which originally had meant to only be him at Étienne’s, a planned out event of relaxing while Étienne moaned on about some artist he had to read about in class, or excitedly jabber on about some weird modern art style he had just learnt about. Ever since Étienne had gotten it into his head to get an MA in art history – and actually got into the school, Edward had noticed a gradual change in the other man, where once there had been an odd vacancy of interest, a renewed spark had taken hold.  Étienne had one more semester before he graduated, and Edward was very… proud, mixed with something else.

What he had assumed would be a private Christmas actually meant going to Trois-Rivières for the ‘family shindig’, a change in plans which he had not mentally prepared for. How the hell would he be explained? Étienne had waved off all his concerns informing him that ‘Suzette was the best’ and ‘we always bring friends over so its not a problem’ followed by ‘you really need to try Suzette’s tourtière’.

So he was here, the lost stranger amongst the tight knit family, talking to what could tentatively be called the patriarch. He had not figured out the other man, he was reserved, not at all like his two brothers, perhaps a little more like Élyse in nature.  

Jacques shrugged as he gently released Edward’s arm from the lights, <It’s how they say they love each other.>

Étienne was loudly screeching because Samuel had swiped the box from him, followed by thumping as Samuel quickly ran from the room.

<Love, huh? Almost sounds like a murder.> Edward joked, pleased to see a small smile appear on the other man’s face. Love was the reason why he was here, sitting with the brother, keeping distances between him and Étienne. Somehow being here was making everything around him seem real, where in private he could dream that the man he loved could return a feeling, being plunked down into this scenario made everything that wasn’t apparent.  Consciously he did not touch the other man, he lived in absolute fear that the family would suspect something. The something that wasn’t there. The something that had twisted him, the thing that tormented him. What the hell would he do if anyone asked if he and Étienne were… more than friends? Lie of course, lie bald faced to the sweet-cheeked Suzette, ‘no, just old friends’, where the lie was mostly truth, the most effective tool to bury down the truths not meant for the waking day.

<We should test before we wrap,> Jacques said as he plugged it in, distracting Edward from the pandemonium in the next room. There was that moment of anticipation, a brief flash, and then a gentle pop.

<Oh no, the blue bulb.> Edward automatically said.

<Don’t worry, I have replacements…> almost proudly, Jacques produced a small box. Methodically he tested each and every bulb, found the culprit and replaced it.  The care with which Jacques did the action, the satisfaction on his face as the lights once more flickered on, his face suddenly reflected in blue, twisted Edward’s stomach. He hated it, but he was jealous. Adjusting his glasses, Edward shifted away, trying to quell these unpleasant feelings. Mechanically he helped Jacques wrap the tree in the lights, pricking himself in the process, thankfully not drawing any blood. Standing back, Jacques surveyed the tree, making small adjustments to the lights, until he nodded in satisfaction.  

Looking at Edward he said, <Now we let the two hyenas fight over the decorations… do you want some eggnog?>

<Sure...> Rubbing his hands on his corduroy pants, Edward followed Jacques into the kitchen, where Suzette was putting together some of the meal for the next day. As she placed the lid on the dish, she let out a sound of surprise as Jacques snuck up from behind and wrapped her in his arms, giving her a kiss on her neck.

<Jacques!>

<My love, that ham looks divine. What did you use in the marinade this year?>

<Nutmeg, cinnamon, brown sugar….> she began listing off, before she noticed Edward awkwardly standing halfway in the kitchen, almost ready to flee.  <Édouard, did you want some eggnog?>

<Yes.>

<Please make yourself at home, the cups are there, and the eggnog is warm on the stove. Élyse made it, her special recipe.>

<O-ok.> quickly Edward found himself a mug, and hastily ladled some of the warm alcoholic liquid into it, before making a hasty exit not wishing to see any more of what he could not have.

The hallway wasn’t well lit, and as his wool socks slid slightly on that gap where the wood floor peeked out from the rug, Edward warmed his hands on the mug and looked at the photos on the wall.  All the frames were the same, a nice medium brown wood, with different images of the family. It looked as if they had recently had a professional photograph taken, as that one was pride of place amongst the constellations of smaller images around it. There was an image of Suzette and Jacques under a tree, hands clasped as they looked at each other deep in conversation, whoever had taken that photograph seemed to know the exact moment to capture, a moment where the sun was shining, the soft dapple of the leaf shadows around them, haloing a couple deeply in love.

Taking a sip of the cinnamon rum eggnog, he swallowed the creamy mixture, licking his lips as he glanced over the photo of Élyse wearing the hugest hair bow he had ever seen in his entire life, an image of Samuel posing dramatically on some stone stairs, and then one of Étienne wearing some ridiculous pompom sweater. Another photo of Étienne and Élyse at the Montreal Olympics, wearing the official jacket smiling in front of the flame, eyes alight with pride.  This house, Edward realized, served as the heart of this strange family nucleus, where Jacques, though quiet and never one much to be noticed, was the anchor. What would it be like to have that back home? He wondered.

A place for people to gather, feel safe, be happy together. He hadn’t had that in a long time, and his mind drifted to his family. Edith who was spending Christmas with some friends, Mac, hell when had he actually had a good sit down visit with him? Calvin? He wasn’t really family, plus he was busy annoying the hell out of Caroline and whoever else had the misfortune to be in his festive Christmas proximity. His thoughts were broken when he heard something fall to the floor in the other room, followed by Étienne letting out a string of very serious curses.

Curiously he made his way to the living room where he saw Étienne on the floor holding something, tears in his eyes as he continued to shout at Samuel who was looking down at him with a rather nasty expression.

<Relax baby brother, that decoration never really fit in with the theme anyway, that little piece of ugly… “art…” as you call it, was never worth much anyway, I think it looks better like that.> Samuel responded in a not at all comforting manner.

Was Jacques really sure this is how they expressed love for each other? Edward thought. To him it just looked like a terrible relationship. Samuel had turned his back on Étienne and was beginning to decorate the tree. As he once more looked to Étienne, Edward realized that he was in fact starting to sob rather hard. What the hell had broke? His legs were moving before he had even considered that it might be bad to walk into this situation, and he crouched next to the other man.

<Bouclés?> he said softly, <Do you want to come to the dining table with me? Bring the ornament.>

Étienne looked at him, face red from crying, then looked at the ground trying to see if he had missed any pieces. Edward also looked, finding a small wire, and an odd ball. He looked at the ornament in Étienne’s hand, and then, when Étienne confirmed they had all the pieces, he followed Edward to the dining room, carefully laying out the broken pieces on the wooden table. Sitting down, he placed his mug on the table with a thud, and looked at it frowning in thought. Étienne had quieted down slightly, watching him.

<Do you have some needle-nose pliers and glue here?> Edward asked, his thoughts shifting to the ornament, moving the parts around.  Finally before him was something he could do. He was good with his hands, with fixing what needed to be fixed. Years of necessity had taught him to repair. This ornament, while probably never going to be perfect, was doable.  

<Uh—yeah.> Étienne disappeared, returning quickly with the asked for items.  He handed them to Edward, then once more sat on the chair nearby, knees drawn up to his chin as he intently watched the other man work.

Edward felt sort of guilty for having avoided the other man ever since they had got to this house, guilty about being sort of snappy when he had been shown Étienne’s room – asking where he would sleep, and having a minor freak-out until Étienne had rolled his eyes and showed him the pullout couch in the den next to his bedroom.  He probably shouldn’t have done that, but there was nothing to do about it now. He could feel the other man’s eyes upon his hands, and he hoped that maybe repairing this ornament could make up for his mood earlier.

The only sound in the dining room was the tick-tock of the grandfather clock out in the hallway.

<So… this goes here, right?> Edward asked.

<Yes… but a little like…> Étienne reached out, his fingers brushing against Edward’s as he shifted the ball.

It took every inch of willpower not to automatically pull away, to relax into the brief touch. No one would suspect anything from such an innocent moment, even if secretly his heart was pounding. Trying not to sound shaky, Edward asked, <So I glue it like this?>

<Yeah.>  

Edward glued the piece into place, and then looked up at the other man with a wry expression, as he held it. <Looks like I might be here for a while, I should have thought this through. This is a Calder piece, isn’t it?>

<How did you know?>

<Bouclés, who else is known for making cool mobiles and was featured at Expo 67? Of course the moment you saw this tiny mobile you had to get it.>

Letting out a snort, Étienne mumbled, <Well I think we might have interfered with the artistic intent… probably won’t move as it should now… but thanks for fixing it.>

<Oh ye of little faith,> Edward responded, then, <Hey, can you like… hold up my eggnog so I can drink it?>

It took a little awkward positioning, but finally, the mug was held up enough and Edward managed a sip.

<This is gonna take a while of me holding it together, so why don’t you entertain me? Tell me something interesting.> Edward prompted, knowing that if he had to sit in silence for the next twenty minutes next to the man he should not touch he would go absolutely mad.

Étienne’s face lit up. <Yeah! This semester I took a class on surrealist art and when it comes to Magritte…> his voice droned on as he enthusiastically informed Edward all about this artist, and how he had adopted some of the techniques discussed into some of his own paintings (paintings which Edward had yet to see manifest.)

Nodding along, Edward made the appropriate comments, genuinely interested, but also halfway trying not to lean into the other man. Whenever that urge got too strong, he would get Étienne to hold up his eggnog, taking that movement to gather himself.

After another twenty minutes, Edward set the piece down onto the table. <This probably shouldn’t be moved until tomorrow. Let the glue cure.>

<But… how am I supposed decorate with it to save the tree from the boring Christmas aesthetic Samuel is subjecting it to?>

<Bouclés, just wake up early,> Edward rolled his eyes and then let out a sound of surprise as Étienne was suddenly much closer, back of his hand brushing warm against his cheek, as Étienne leant forward and whispered.

<That’s usually tough to do with you around.>

<We’re not sharing the same bed,> Edward hissed, <I thought we covered I’m sleeping on the pull-out couch downstairs?>

<You haven’t slept on that pull-out couch…> Étienne replied ominously as he quickly pulled away as the sound of someone walking drew closer.

Élyse peeked in, <Oh that’s where you two are. C’mon, it’s Christmas carols.>

[quatschmachen]

Testament

Yes hello me again here is another update which takes place in the 80′s.

Anyways it takes place right after Regret.

Masterpost

XXXX

Where his face lay it was warm, slightly gritty, hard, and definitely not a pillow. Cracking open a heavy eye, Edward looked straight ahead in the shadowy place where he found himself, his mind murky with lost memories of the night… nights? before.  Odd lumps and bumps were before him, and he knew that at some point if he wanted to avoid a wicked pain in his neck, he would need to move. Firstly, he needed to figure out where his body was… closing his eye, he concentrated very hard and after a moment, managed to wiggle a toe. Still had feet, which was good. One of his feet felt colder than the other. Will solve that later once he… yup there it was, his right hand was smushed under his side in an awkward position which he did not want to think about the consequences of. His left hand was sprawled out on the surface his face was on. Slowly, delicately, he rolled onto his back, letting out a small groan as his right hand was released, the numbness moving into pins and needles tingling from finger tips up his arm. The issue with rolling onto his back was the part that had been upon the surface was exposed to the air, any warmth that may have existed evaporated into the ether.

Rubbing his eyes, Edward sighed, and then tentatively stretched, immediately regretting as every bone in his body seemed to ache, his arms slightly taught from whatever positions and actions of the time before, and his back and ass acting like throbbing beacons of past sins. Opening his eyes, he looked around, the blurs around him making him realize his glasses were… he groped around aimlessly, until thankfully, his fingers brushed against them. Putting them on, and trying to ignore the fact that one of the lenses was suspiciously dirty, he looked around. His head was absolutely throbbing, and lazily, he reached over to scratch at his arm, nails picking afresh the scab which had closed up on the needle marks. He could feel his body going into withdrawal and he wondered if there were any drugs nearby - it didn’t matter which type - to once again send him into sweet oblivion. Knowing he would hate every second, he slowly pushed himself upright, letting out a small whimper as more pressure was put on his ass, the pain fuelled him to stand up, giving him a momentary headrush.

Looking down, he assessed the situation of his body.  His foot was cold because he was missing a shoe. The mystery was more why his other foot had a shoe on—he realized it was in fact not his own shoe but someone else’s. He was also buck naked.

Slowly, he looked around the place where he was, realizing it was some weirdly furnished warehouse, with other bodies asleep, or the couple in the corner still fucking. So… he had somehow ended up here and… pretty much lost everything but his glasses. Alright then.

The light was coming from windows set high up on the walls, indicating that at some point the sun had arose – what time of day it was he had no fucking clue. Bending over, and instantly regretting it, Edward managed to pry the shoe off his foot. Not sure what to do with it, he simply left it in place, and continued to look around to see if he could find any of his clothes somewhere… or like find a face he might know. Tenderly picking his way through some sleeping persons, he noticed a pair of bright blue boxers hanging on a lamp, which he realized were his. Bumping into a crate, he cursed slightly, but then, with some relief, grabbed the boxers. So far if he left the place he would not be public enemy number one. Pulling them on, he noticed his body was covered in bruises and scratches, some of the bruises had distinct hand shapes, which probably explained why he was so fucking sore.

Nearby he heard a movement, and he saw a woman stirring awake. Right beside her head was his shirt – in fact she had been using it as some sort of makeshift pillow. Not feeling any regret, he made his way to her, and after gently prodding her, removed his shirt, and pulled it on. The memories of before were starting to piece together. Étienne had wanted some huge sex party for him. It had definitely not started at the warehouse but some high-end sex club. How he had gotten to the warehouse he had no clue, and at this point did not really care. There had been a lot of drugs and alcohol, and he had been flying high on coke and orgasms.

Some moaning beside him informed him that some other people had woken up and decided to continue the night before. Apparently this orgy was still in progress. Edward looked around, trying to figure out where the hell Étienne was.  Methodically as he navigated obstacles, rebuffed advances, and looked for his clothes, he kept his eye out for a familiar mass of brown curls. A disjointed memory surfaced as he pulled on one of his boots. Étienne laughing, also high as a kite, a manic glint to his eyes, as master of ceremonies, ensuring that everyone was getting fucked in every way possible. There had been a suggestion to moving out, some strange migration to the warehouse to join up with another orgy – which someone else had known about.  So for sure Étienne had come to the warehouse.

It was when he was fully dressed, and having scoped out the entire room, that Edward realized with a sinking in his heart and stomach, that Étienne in fact was nowhere in the warehouse.

Étienne had left him there.

By himself.

Forgotten him.

Cleaning his glasses lens on his shirt, trying to make things less blurry out of one eye, he decided to try again. There was no way Étienne would literally fuck off. He was probably passed out somewhere, and the good thing about this warehouse was that it was an easy area to search.

Thanking the gods that his wallet was still in the pocket of his jeans, he tried to stem the rising panic, and did another slow shuffle around, thinking that for sure he must be wrong – Étienne would not just leave him at some orgy in the corner of nowhere, surrounded by absolute strangers (that probably had all fucked him at some point, he honestly could not remember), with no note or anything.  People were awakening, making looking at them easier, and he nearly gave up the search when a handsome man looked over his way in an invitation. The pain in his leg however throbbed at that exact moment, and Edward realized all he really wanted was food and a soft bed. He was just fucked out of fucks.

His eyes had adjusted to the gloom as he looked behind a crate, saw a person sleeping, and continued on his search. As he finished his second go around he took a moment to assess the situation. He badly needed to piss. He could piss and then look again, or piss and give up.

Shuffling to the door, he forced it open, and stepped out blinking into the watery midafternoon sun. It was chilly, and there was an inch of old snow on the ground. Shivering, realizing that he had probably left his jacket at the other place, he slowly crunched his way to a shadowy corner to relieve himself. Contemplating his next plan of action, he figured maybe he could have a smoke and go back for a third go round, maybe Étienne had been hiding in the concrete floor or something. Going back to the door, he realized with horror that it only opened from the inside and that he was effectively locked out. Shit. There was no sense standing outside. Looking around to see if Étienne was perhaps outside, he realized rather fast that he was alone. No one in their right mind would be outside in this weather. He decided that it was probably best to make his way back to Étienne’s. The man was probably at home next to a warm cup of coffee wondering where he had gone to. He listened for the sound of traffic, and made his way towards it. His legs were sore but managing to hold him up. Vaguely he looked around at the street names, wondering if he had enough money for the Metro. He was far away from where Étienne lived, and he knew he had not enough strength to walk all the way. Decision made, he looked around slightly lost. Metro would be nice if he knew where the hell the station was.

As he tilted against the wind, he finally found someone else, who at first wanted to avoid him, which couldn’t be helped, he did look like a fucking mess, but he was insistent and asked his question in awkward French (there were times when he would default to an older word than necessary), and after repeating himself, the person gave a curt answer, before quickly walking away, the better to escape from him. Hoping that the answer was correct, he followed the directions and to his relief, stumbled upon a station. Leaning against the butterfly door, he let out a happy sound as the heat of the station rushed against his skin.  Knowing that the stairs at the moment would probably just result in him stumbling, he looked around and made his way to a bench and sat down. Rubbing his arm he looked at the people passing by. He watched with strong empathy as a large heavy set man reached the top of the stairs, his face red with perspiration.  The escalator must not be working again, he noted. The man hobbled to the seat next to him, wiping his face with a grubby handkerchief. He set the briefcase down by his feet, as he caught his breath. When the man was reasonably recovered, he finally noticed Edward. The look of shock and disapproval made Edward wonder just how terrible he looked – probably not a good thing to be in short sleeves with visible track lines- came his fuzzy thought. If the man thought he was a druggie, he was right. At this very moment as their eyes met, Edward realized just how alone he was.

Alone in a corner of the universe where he really should not be, surrounded by people who would rather spit on him than help. A pitiful representation of who he was supposed to be mimicking. Ashamed, he looked away, nearly dying of a heart attack when the man addressed him in French.

Not responding right away – too surprised at even being addressed- the man asked his question again in English, each word carefully sounded out, the man doing his best to communicate.

“Do you have enough money for the Metro?”

“Uh.” Edward looked at him blankly, not sure how to form thoughts into proper words.

The man had reached into his pocket pulling out his wallet. After a moment, he had counted out exact change, reaching out and taking Edward’s right hand and placing it into his palm.

“You look cold, you should go home and warm up. I’m sure your mother is worried sick.” The man kindly said, closing Edward’s fingers around the money. With that, the man picked up his briefcase and stood up, walking away without looking back.

Entirely befuddled by the incident, Edward slowly uncurled his fingers to look at the gleaming coins. The heat of the station was interspersed by the cold air as people pushed through the butterfly doors, and he could hear the distant whine of the trains passing below. When he looked to where the man had walked he was out of sight, and Edward wondered if he would ever see him again. Feeling slightly guilty for not even saying thank you, he stood up and made his way to the stairs. Carefully, each step slightly painful and jarring to his sore body, he began to descend. The stairs were slimy from the melting muddy snow, and his free hand clasped at the railing to prevent himself from falling. People rushed past him, their bodies cushioned in warm winter jackets, sometimes carelessly bumping into him, once or twice he nearly lost his balance, but finally, he made it to the bottom of the first flight of stairs. Carefully he went over to the attendant and purchased a ticket, moving through the barrier and making his way to the next set of stairs down to the main platform.

There was something magical about the Metro. The distinct rumbling of the trains, starting small and then as it came closer crashing into the tunnel like an ocean wave with the slight squeal as it slowed. He took a moment on the bridge to watch a train pull in, stop, the people climbing in and out like the working blood cells of the vein, fluidly moving around him. The doors closing, with the distinctive “dou dou dou” sound so natural and only found in Montreal, probably originally not even thought about but so pervasive that if gone would be a noticeable silence.

Descending onto the main platform he looked around at the other people waiting, much better dressed than him, and he wished, for the hundredth time that he had his jacket. If he had his jacket perhaps he would not be receiving so many furtive looks – or in some cases blatant stares, as if asking what this creature of the night was doing emerging so early in the day.

Entering the train, Edward hunkered down onto a seat trying to take as little space as possible. Thankfully he knew the closest station to Étienne’s and closing his eyes he felt himself nod off slightly, rocked gently by the train and the rhythmic whoosh of the compressed air that gripped the moving vehicle. It was sort of a pain that the best parties were still out west, forcing the travelling across the boundaries, leaving French for English and back again. Along the permeable Main, the street of hopes and crushed dreams gone to seed. Étienne had mentioned the gay scene drifting east, where gentrification was pushing everyone across the borders into the French district, but so far the best places still lurked in the west.

Hearing the name of his stop, Edward jerked awake, stumbling as he stood up, feeling too wan and washed out to pay attention to anyone who may or may not be looking at him. Following the stream to the staircases, his legs trembled slightly as he began to climb the stairs, his legs heavy as if with sand, he wondered if one day he could simply float up instead of this arduous journey. The Metro was no friend to people coming down from drugs and rough sex, he thought.  The straining of his thighs and calves had him wonder what he had gotten up to while intoxicated, sure his ass was explainable, but why the Jesus did his calves feel like taught strings of a fiddle liable to break under the slightest touch of the bow? His mind drifted to the idea of having a flying canoe to get up these hell stairs and he broke out into a fit of giggles, Christ, if Étienne were here he knew the other man would be rolling at the thought of reworking the theme of the flying canoe as a way to get up the fucking stairs of the Metro – and he suddenly remembered that he had no clue where the other man had gone to. Shit. Maybe it was a mistake to go all the way back to his place to find him, what if Et was like, just in another warehouse? He abruptly stopped, causing someone to bump into him and swear. Restarting, he continued the methodical climb as the sinking realization that perhaps he had gone on some wild goose chase and that Étienne would not be at home settled inside that place that continually gnawed inside. Well, he had set a course and he better follow through.

As he reached the top of the staircase, he moved to the side, catching his breath, dreading stepping outside into the chill air. The warmth from below was leaving as people streamed in from the outside, and after a moment, he also left, quickly walking, his skin bumping up from the light breeze that settled upon one’s skin like the cold fingers of a friend. Turning down the neighbourhood street, he watched a few squirrels bound across the snow, wondering why they had so much energy, and wouldn’t it be better to be snuggly wherever the squirrels lived. As he approached Étienne’s, his heart stilled. There were footsteps leading to the flat above, to whoever Étienne was renting to, but the fine dusting of snow in front of Étienne’s door lay undisturbed like powdered sugar on a freshly baked brownie. Maybe Étienne got home before the snow, he thought hopefully as he crunched his way to the door, and tried the handle. Locked tight. He knocked.

After a few beats, he knocked again but louder.

Feeling foolish he then tried the doorbell.

After waiting another few moments, not hearing any sign of life, he tried peering through the window, knowing that if anyone were to approach him at this moment, they would be right to be suspicious.

Edward wondered how hard it would be to break into the place; his frustration mounting as he thought of his warm sweater inside. Divided from comfort by bricks and wood. Inside was the couch, or bed, or quite honestly at this point, the shag carpet, where he could plonk face down into and have a blanket wrapped around his cold achy limbs like a second skin.

With a sigh, he plopped himself on the front step, immediately regretting his decision to wait there as the icy cold concrete zapped through his jeans and throughout his entire body. This had not been in the plans. Somehow, he had assumed he would have Étienne with him at all times and sitting outside in the frigging November cold desperately wanting to feel some sort of warmth again was not what he imagined his ‘morning after’ to be. Shivering, he realized that if he were to stay here and fall asleep, he could quite possibly actually die; he wondered what the hell he could do. He looked like hell – was there some sort of café or food place where he could defrost over a cup of coffee? Mind made up, he was about to stand up when a familiar voice made him jump.

“What the hell?”

Looking up, his heart did a little plummet as his mind caught up, realizing the familiar voice was not the one he wanted to hear.

“What – why are you here?” Élyse stood before him wearing a purple bobbly toque with the largest turquoise pompom known to man kind, a fluffy winter jacket with matching purple and turquoise theme with a big zigzaggy black stripe, blue jeans, and a nice pair of winter boots. Lips pursed in perplexity she carefully looked him over, eyes narrowed. “Never mind. Let’s get you inside.”

And like manna from heaven, she reached into her pocket and brought out the key. “Shift over.”

Numbly (from cold and probably shock), Edward did so watching dully as she opened the unopenable door and ushered him in. His thought sluggish, he knew he should probably ask her what she was doing here, why she had a key, and what was going on, but instead he passively stood there watching her unwrap, and then give him a once over, her warm hand reaching out and touching his forehead, cheeks, and arms.

“What the hell?” she uttered again, “how long have you been outside?”

“Uh.” Edward frowned, the concept of time absolutely escaping him.

Grabbing his face, she forced him to look her in the eyes, and she let out a growl, “I’m going to fucking kill that brother of mine.”

“Don’t do that,” Edward found himself saying softly through lips that cracked, “It wouldn’t be nice.”

Snorting, Élyse hustled him further into Étienne’s home, her actions like someone who regularly showed up unannounced, a secondary home owner.

“So, you staying here with Mr. Godforsaken?” she asked, “where’s your stuff?”

“G-guest room?” Edward hazarded.

Nodding, she shoved him into the bathroom and began to run him a warm bath, “You should strip down and get in here once it’s half full – wait, you’re so froze you probably will burn yourself, shit. I should make sure the water is the right temperature.”

Edward stood there staring at her. Her glasses were still slightly foggy from the temperature change. He was somewhat entranced by the soft fall of her curls, she looked so much like her brother, but in a way entirely different. Perhaps it was the energy that was different. Or the firm way she took command in ways Étienne only managed to do in the dark, through sure touches that made him want to die right there to never leave the moment.

The thunking of water into the tub falling loud and hard from the tap echoed in the bathroom. As if sensing his gaze, she once more looked at him and frowned in disapproval.

“Why aren’t you naked?”

“—uh -- I hardly think it appropriate – “

“Why are you fucked up and still holding a sense of moral modesty? At least the other ones usually don’t ask questions, Edward Murphy, strip naked now and get into the tub or so help me God I am going to actually call someone who knows you better to tell them –”

Edward quickly removed his shirt, her threat effective, as he stripped down, the clothing falling to the ground in soft thuds, and under her eagle eye, slid into the deliciously warm water, which felt like hell burning at first until his body began to adjust to feeling warmth once more.

As she turned off the tap, she uttered “Stay there until I come back.”

An easy order to follow, Edward thought, his mind drifting with half hidden memories, swirling, until her words caught up to him. “At least the other ones usually don’t ask questions.”

Other ones?

Hm.

Must be something Étienne did often enough then.

Often enough for Élyse to simply bring him in to warm him up. Stretching his fingers in the warm water, he brought his hand up, looking at his calloused fingers, the scars on his arms, signs of his own self abuse.

He wasn’t sure why he felt unsettled and sad.

Sinking further down, letting the water cover his head, he held his breath not wanting to think about this deeply, but his betraying brain continued on the thoughts he didn’t want, the confirmation that no matter what he did, or how he fooled himself, or whatever epic orgy Étienne may have thrown in his honour, he was simply another body, another distraction, a moment of mere amusement.

His thoughts slowed comfortingly, as his body struggled for the breath, he refused it.

Another part of him darkly suggested whether he was using Étienne to ignore larger issues, bigger problems, the ones that were dogging him, a constant part of his shadow stuck onto it like tiny burrs. He didn’t want to think about that.

Lungs bursting he knew if he stayed a moment longer he was probably in serious danger, and emerging with a splosh he gasped in the cruel life-giving air, filling his lungs full, the heavy breaths rushing through his veins briefly bringing a moment of clarity. Deciding that he had had enough of the bath, he shakily stood up, slipping slightly, carefully aiming his leg over the rim of the tub and settling it onto the plush bath rug. Reaching for a fluffy clean towel (which Élyse had thoughtfully left) he dried off and tied it around his waist. Feet cold upon the tiles he opened the bathroom door and began to walk to the guest room, madly craving a cigarette.

“EXCUSE ME!” Élyse’s voice behind him made him bump into the wall in fright, “What part of stay right there do you not understand?”

Turning he saw her holding a thick fluffy bathrobe.

“Uh.”

“Oh never mind, you’re clearly too fucked up to properly understand what I’m saying just – put this on -” she shoved the robe at him and then nearly frog marched him into the guest room, where the bed sheets had been nicely tucked down. “Get into bed.”

Edward was to afraid she’d bite his head off if he asked whether or not he should take the robe off and simply rolled into the bed, and lay still as she efficiently tucked him in.

“Sleep.”

As she clicked the light off and shut the door Edward stared at the ceiling, the room in shades of grey from the winter sun peeking through the not really effective curtains. Once he had determined she was not going to pop out from behind the door, he slithered out of the bed, hands on the zipper of his bag as he pulled out some cigarettes. Fumbling around deeper in his bag, he found his lighter and lit one up, sinking on the floor in relief, back against the bed, as the nicotine took hold. A small boost for now, until he could take another hit of whatever (something he suspected Élyse would not at all be helpful with, she had that irritating aura of a straight edge person).

What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He was finally inside, the place he had so wanted to be, but as he looked up at the large Habs poster, and the figurines, knowing that Étienne would probably kill him for smoking in the guest room, he felt overwhelmingly trapped inside the space of a man who wasn’t even there. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stood up, dropping the bathrobe, and slowly somewhat painfully dressed. The bath had helped ease his limbs, but he simply did not want to be in this room anymore, he needed to escape. Dressing warmly, he gently opened the door, listening to where Élyse was bustling about, and quietly made his way to the front door. Like a naughty teenager escaping to see his boyfriend he slid on his boots, tugged on a scarf hat and gloves from the shared bin, then, after a moment, tugged on one of Étienne’s jackets, before sneaking out back into the cold November air.

His mind was focused on one thing – and one thing only. The biggest plate of poutine he could lay his hands on at La Banquise.

[quatschmachen]

Regret

1980′s ish. Follows Convenient.

Masterlist

Ed x Et nsfw

If anything he hadn’t made up his mind until the evening before. It had been a long week of tough negotiations, one where his arguments had been slowly ground down, where fighting for Western rights for their own resources once more fell into the cycle of a voiceless opposition crushed down by the East and their self centered interests. It was very clear to Edward that those in charge only viewed the West as some convenient piggy bank to rob at their own convenience. If anything, it was looking at Bert’s face at the end of the meeting, the resignation where the fire had been dampened down, the absolute exhaustion that made him realize he did not want to return home just yet. Did not want to be the one in charge, putting out the fires that kept cropping up, did not want to carry the burden, the eternal Sisyphus rolling the meager offerings up the hill only to reach the peak and have it roll back down. He just was not feeling up to being the back the others leant upon, the person carrying them through the worst of it; at the very least, not yet. He also knew that Bert would want to go home and stew, he worked better that way. Stewing on the ranch staring at the mountains, gathering his energy to once more attack and vocally disagree where others might fear to tread.  So his mind which once was in doubt suddenly was of one concord with what he wanted to do. Not what he should do.

He had not had the chance to speak to Étienne privately after their first evening together, the evening where Étienne had woken up after his brief rest, and Edward had made his hasty goodbyes, fear tinging his very bones that someone might have seen him enter or leave the room. He had spent a paranoid week wondering if anyone had seen them together, and the anxiety had been part of the reason why he had carefully avoided the other man in more intimate contexts. But now he was tired, and a part of him once more did not give a fuck.

He felt as if he was betraying all he stood for as he stood outside the other man’s hotel door, wondering if Étienne was even in there. It was more likely that he was out on the town, exploring what the place had to offer. Taking a chance, he knocked, and immediately regretted his action. The fuck was suddenly given, and he knew he should get the hell out and return to the things he should do, and not what he wanted. He decided not to even wait, and as he turned had his heart sink as the door inconveniently opened.

“Édouard?” Étienne’s voice was surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to see the other man so soon, his tone shifted however to a lower register, “come in.”

Realizing he could not simply knock and run away (in fact he was too embarrassed to do that), Edward entered the room, trying to look anywhere but the bed.

As the door closed, Étienne winked, “Back for another round?”

“Uhh no,” Edward stammered suddenly feeling shy, hating at how he immediately blushed. The heat creeped up his neck as the hairs stood up.

“Too bad,” Étienne stretched and then returned to his packing, “I was planning on going out tonight with Emma around seven so… you have about a half hour.”

“It won’t take that long, and uhm I guess it is kind of late so uhm, I was just wondering if uhm your offer was still open, I mean about me visiting you for a little bit since this is all done, but uhm I guess I should have said earlier? I mean I know you’re uh busy and all,” Edward could feel himself turn redder, he really was an idiot even coming here. Étienne was not the type to be known for having oodles of free time, he was always out doing something, be it investigating a new situation in his city, or spending time with his friends. Sure, they fucked but Edward wasn’t going to be placing himself at the top of Étienne’s friend register. “Uh but I see you’re busy, uhm, I’ll, uh, guess I’ll catch you later.” He quickly rushed to add before Étienne could even open his mouth.

He was already edging to the door to let himself out, when Étienne, who had been frowning at a creased dress shirt, finally looked over to Edward, “Sure. I’m on the 9:15 morning train, I’ll see if I can get you a ticket next to me. I’ll be leaving the hotel at eight, so meet me in the lobby then.”

“Oh, uh g-great.” Edward managed to squeak, “I- I’ll see you then….” His hand on the door knob he paused, “So uh, just tell me how much the ticket is and I’ll be sure to pay you back.”

Étienne simply gave a dismissive wave his attention once more on his suitcase, obviously done with Edward for the moment.

And that was how Edward found himself sitting beside Étienne the following morning, his flight rearranged, his vague excuse to Bert made – one where he would see if he could get them a better deal behind closed doors. Bert had simply nodded, Edward was in fact the better negotiator so he was not about to question the other man staying on. He stared out the window, vivid flashes of the changing landscape flying past in a mesmerizing manner, as he remembered his awkward question when they entered the train and Étienne had indicated the seats.

“Are you sure I can have the window?”

Étienne sighed, “Edward, I’ve taken this trip so many times I could close my eyes and nap, and still tell you exactly where we are.”

“Oh. Right. Well, thanks.”

Edward then focused on looking out the window knowing that if he continued to stare at Étienne he would probably act even stupider. He had a grand plan for this week in Montreal, where he would get over his infatuation or whatever the fuck it was, and fuck as many men as possible. It was obvious to him that his interest in Étienne was probably just some hangover of admiration from however long ago. So by the end of this week of hard partying he would no doubt be cured of the fluttering feeling in his stomach whenever he was around the other man.

“No probs,” Étienne muttered as he shifted his jacket into a blanket position and rested his head upon Edward’s shoulder as if it was a pillow and closed his eyes.

“Late night?” Edward managed to ask, glancing over to his friend who nodded.

“Mmyeah. Emma had some stuff to talk about and then after I met this beautiful woman who really had some moves that could impress any gymnast… didn’t get back to my hotel room ‘til five.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“You could say that… I think I overstretched a hamstring though,” came the mumble, before Étienne fell asleep.

Edward stared at him for a moment, thinking about what long eyelashes the other man had, and how it was no secret why he found it so easy to get laid. Someone easy to fall for. God he was so fucking lame, he angrily thought as he forced himself to look out the window, trying to ignore the warm presence of the other man next to him. A half hour later Étienne had awoken and was digging around in his bag for something. After ten more minutes, Edward finally asked, “what are you looking for?”

With triumph, Étienne produced a packet of two saltine crackers, “My snack!”

“…. Is that it?” Edward frowned, then added, “Did you even have breakfast?”

“No.” Étienne responded, “I mean no to breakfast, yes to this is literally the only food I have in my bag and I’m suddenly very hungry.” He paused, then awkwardly, “I… do you want some?”

“Uh no I had my breakfast…” Edward frowned, “Actually…” he reached for his own bag and after a few moments pulled out a sandwich, “I got this earlier in case I got hungry, but I could share?”

“Oh my god,” Étienne eagerly reached for it, “Thanks, you’re the best.” He took a few large bites, savouring it and making approving sounds, before the half completely disappeared. Licking his lips, Étienne smiled at him, a rather genuine smile, as he joked, “Maybe I should keep you around if you always have food on you.”

Edward laughed, ignoring the increase of his heartbeat, “Look, years of starvation have made me make sure I always have food nearby.”

“I should have the same reasoning, but I never seem to have time to remember to do that,” Étienne ruefully said.

“Maybe you should hire a personal chef to make sure you’re looked after eh?” Edward joked.

“With what money?” Étienne rolled his eyes, “The only thing I could offer is sex and I’m sure after a while my chef would want actual pay.”

“Depends who the chef is.” Edward unthinkingly countered.

Étienne raised an eyebrow, and with a slow smile spreading across his face asked, “You making an offer there, Murphy?”

“I – what –” Edward flushed a bright red, “Uh I can’t cook, I’d be disappointment as a hired chef there Étienne, I’m sure you could do better than me.”

“Oh I dunno, you seem to manage to cook pasta without setting it on fire. My bar for edible food has become very low, so I’m fairly easy to please on that front.” Étienne shrugged, “So I’m sure you’d do.”

“As pleasant as that sounds, unfortunately, I think I might get bored of that,” Edward coolly responded, trying to ignore the happiness he felt at the other man’s jokes, he knew that Étienne would for sure get bored of him by the end of a month, and as pleasant as the fantasy was, Edward wanted to make sure that Étienne retained some sort of interest in him, “You’re cute, but too far for me to be some booty call chef.”

“Damn, and here I thought I finally got it sorted,” Étienne laughed.

“Nope.” Edward rolled his eyes and then once more leant his head against the cool glass, closing his eyes, pretending to sleep, not wanting to continue the conversation.

XXXX

Placing his bags in the guest room, Edward doubted his decision for the millionth time, looking around the room and wondering why the hell he hadn’t gone home immediately.  Changing into more flattering clothes, Edward paused in front of the mirror fussing with his hair, wondering what the plan actually was. Were they just going to hang out? Eat? What? Suddenly he felt like some intrusive stranger in his friend’s house, an imposition that shouldn’t have bothered coming. Guilt settled inside, he was really leaning too heavily on Étienne’s good graces, why the fuck did he think it would be a good idea to just come over, god he was a fucking idiot.

The mood hit him swiftly, like the thick dark clouds of a prairie storm, the type that roll in blackening the bluest sky with the heaviness that hangs there, ominous in the weight of unshed rain. Throat tightening, Edward bit his lip to keep his eyes from filling with tears, trying to breathe evenly as he began to panic in his decision. He should have just went home, home where he could just go back and hide, perhaps hit up Mac for the good stuff, the quick fix, without worrying about all the other aspects of himself that he kept picking at like a never healing scab. If he could swing it he could probably cut this down to five days instead of seven, make up some excuse to get the hell out. Count down the dark nights in between the days of who knows what, there was no guarantee Étienne was going to always be around, this was not well planned at all, and if left alone he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do in the place. Shit shit shit.

He could hear Étienne walking around, probably expecting him to emerge and be some sort of affable good guest who wanted to be there, not one who wanted to sink into a puddle and seep away back into the ground no longer taking up space or resources in his friend’s domain.

“Knock knock, you ready?” Étienne’s voice followed by the knocking action forced Edward to quickly wipe his eyes and put on the cool exterior he had been cultivating in order to look somewhat like someone Étienne would hang out with on a constant basis. If there was one thing Edward was certain of, Étienne did not hang out with losers.

“Yes,” Edward managed to say calmly, willing himself into the role of a cool and collected man, one who knew what he was doing unaffected by too many complicated emotions. “Just making sure I looked good to get some ass.”

Étienne looked him up and down, taking his time, lingering on various areas of Edward, and then gave a nod, “Well, I’d say you’d be successful, but first, food.”

XXXXX

If Edward had had any concerns of what they would do they did not last for long.  In the first club, it had become apparent after an awkward hook up (which apparently Étienne, taking his role of sex mentor seriously, had surreptitiously watched) that Étienne had declared that Edward needed some serious training when it came to the art of blow jobs.

“You were getting so good!” Étienne exclaimed, “What happened back west?”

Edward shrugged, “Uh… I wasn’t really getting laid… a lot.”

Étienne had taken him by the arm, “I have the exact place for you… it’s the best glory hole in town and if by the end of this night your jaw doesn’t fall off, you’ll at least have pleasured half the gay men around.”

“The—what!?” Edward exclaimed.

“Glory hole, you’ll get it when we get there.”

It was not the most glorious of places, Edward thought critically. It was in fact a men’s bathroom in the park. It wasn’t that well maintained, and did not smell glorious. Why the hell was Étienne taking him here? He saw some men milling about which he eyed somewhat warily. Étienne guided him into a stall, with a hole in the wall to the other stall. He then physically demonstrated what Edward was to do, showing him the etiquettes, and the service to be performed as a man stuck his cock through the hole, and Étienne expertly began to blow. Fascinated, and turned on as he watched, Edward moved closer. Étienne moved away from the cock, motioning for Edward to take over. Nervously, Edward did, shivering in pleasure as Étienne’s warm mouth pressed against his ear as he whispered instructions, which he obediently followed. The tingles of the other man’s words tingled down his neck, as his tongue teased the flange, running against the tip of the cock. His hands softly gripped the shaft, already slick with saliva. He heard the man groan as he came, the cum dripping down his face. Feeling Étienne’s lips curl up into a smile, Edward realized that he would kneel here all night long so long as he could feel the man beside him.

Étienne had settled more comfortably, his limbs awkwardly fitting themselves snugly against Edward, their position odd but comfortable in the small stall, as Edward with determination tackled the next dick. Étienne’s warm hands crept up his shirt, his lips continuing to gently move against his ear as he continued to instruct, teaching Edward how to tease, dragging out the inevitable orgasm. Edward used feather light touches as instructed, lips pressed against the tip of the cock, fingers running against the pulsing vein, tongue laving against the foreskin. As Edward grew more confident, Étienne’s mouth and hands began to wander more, his lips gently pressing against his neck, giving a small suck of approval whenever Edward did something really good in his cock sucking. He had lost count how many cocks he had sucked, his jaw was sore, but the want to please the other man drove him to continue. Time had lost all meaning, only pleasure filled his senses, his own cock straining against his jeans, forcefully ignored by the teasing touches of Étienne.  Lips swollen from sucking, Edward leant into the light teasing pinches Étienne was giving his nipples, letting out small desperate sounds, as Étienne’s tongue poked out and lightly ran along his neck. As the man came, Étienne leant forward and gently wiped it from Edward’s mouth and chin, the fingers light upon the swollen lips.

“Mmm I think you need to pass the final test,” he murmured, “Me.”

Breathing heavily, Edward nodded, and, after some awkward moving, legs stiff from the held position, Étienne left the stall, and a few moments later, was in the adjoining one.  Anticipation had him begin to rub himself through his jeans as he listened to jingle as Étienne undid his belt buckle, and the agonizingly slow unzipping of his pants. Watching through the hole, he saw as Étienne pulled his pants down, enough for his hard cock to spring out from the constraints, the tip glistening with his excitement. He let out a small sound of frustration as he watched Étienne play with his dick, stroking it, but keeping it out of reach. Once Étienne had determined that he head tormented Edward enough in withholding, he pushed his cock through the hole, Edward leant forward, teasing the foreskin, gently pushing it back, and focusing all touch upon it. His tongue swiped at the sensitive skin, the sounds Étienne making music to his ears. Licking to the balls, he focused some attention there, running his fingers and tongue against his sack, then tongue roving up against the pulsing vein. Keeping his touches light, his lips pressed against the tip, as he opened his mouth and began to suck the tip, he steeled himself momentarily, relaxing his mouth and throat as he then took more of the other man in, and continued to suck. Using his hands to caresses and tease the rest of the shaft, which he could not fully accommodate in his mouth, he was pleased as Étienne began to thrust into him, his loud moans echoing in the room.

Hearing the other man curse, and then slam his hand against the partition wall, was the only warning Edward had that Étienne was close, and, unlike the other men he had blown, he sucked and swallowed, the pulsing cock in his mouth almost calling to his own neglected need. After a moment, Étienne pulled away, and Edward wiped his mouth on his sleeve, breathing heavily.

The door to his stall opened, Étienne giving him a wide grin, “I’ll say you’ve improved handily…” his eyes gently drank in Edwards disheveled appearance, “stand up.”

Obediently Edward did, and he let out a small sound of surprise as Étienne knelt before him, fingers firmly undoing his fly, and releasing him. The cool air was almost a relief to his burning skin, as Edward watched entranced as Étienne carefully ran his fingers along his throbbing cock, inspecting it. A small smile curled the corner of his mouth, as Étienne looked up, the burning desire in his eyes taking Edward by surprise. He didn’t have much time to think about it, as Étienne easily took him into his mouth, relaxing, and Edward’s knees nearly buckled as Étienne began to deep throat him. Fingers twining into Étienne’s hair, Edward came fast and hard, too far gone to care about lasting. Leaning against the partition, Edward tried to recover, watching in some bemusement as Étienne tucked him back in, making him once more modest.

Standing up, Étienne looked at him hungrily, “I want to fuck you real hard, you little slut.”

The words sent delicious shivers down Edward’s spine.

“You have a choice to remain here, or back to my place…”

There was no question.

“Yours.”

XXXXX

Deliciously sore, Edward’s memory of the night and morning, and lazy afternoon, seemed to only be imprinted in his body, as Étienne ordered in some food and they lazily ate in an attempt to regain the energy spent.

The food around them had quickly disappeared, and Étienne was contentedly looking at him with a thoughtful expression. Feeling a little nervous under the other mans scrutiny, Edward gathered himself together, and looked him in the eye.

“What is it?”

“Just trying to figure out where to train you next,” came the reply. There was a pause as Étienne once more gave him that small smile that Edward was beginning to crave, “I’m thinking that mentoring you is going to be a lot of fun.”

“M-mentoring?” Edward asked.

“Yes… I hadn’t quite realized it last time but… there’s a lot you don’t know and… perhaps it is time to take you to the higher levels of sex…”

“There are levels of sex!?”

“Of course… but I suppose… we should start with perhaps the less daunting venues…” Étienne cocked his head to the side as if in thought, “You’re open to multiple partners at once?”

“Uh – uhm – are you sure you can find multiple men who want to fuck me at the same time?” Edward squeaked.

A look of surprise followed by loud laughter had Edward squirming uncomfortably, until Étienne managed to calm down, “Édouard, I don’t think you quite realize how delicious you are… trust me. I will have men lined around the block to fuck you. Hmmm perhaps I should have a coming out night for you at my club… make a big orgy for you? Would you like that?”

“Uhm…” Squirming around a little, his insides fluttering in a mixture of excitement and embarrassment, Edward figured it probably wasn’t worse than what they had already done, and honestly, the thought of multiple men touching him, fucking him, felt like the ultimate middle finger to everyone who seemed to want him either dead or living the life of a nun, “Yeah actually that sounds great.”