Alone Together

Like all the chapters of late, this one took a while to complete. I started this whole series as a bit of a lark, but as it progressed it grew in meaning and importance to me, especially during this last arc. In any case, this is the biggest chapter yet, coming in at a whopping 70 pages long. There's a lot of stuff in it and, in some ways, which I won't mention here, it is the most personal one I've ever written. So I hope you'll share your thoughts.

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge, and share my gratitude for, all the feedback I got on the last chapter. Perhaps it was a cumulative thing, built into the forward building momentum of this arc (of which this is the last chapter). Or maybe there were things that struck people specially (since people tended to comment on and like quite different things in the last chapter). The email address is denis141@hotmail.com.

SPECIAL THANKS: To Em for her help in getting Colin's accent to be a reasonably good approximation of how a Dubliner would talk. And to Zack for his detailed and incisive feedback. Thank you both.

DEDICATION: To those who struggle each day to tell the story of who they are, not giving up, no matter how hard it becomes. We are all stories. And to Aaron, my great inspiration and love.

DISCLAIMER: I don't know NSYNC (except in my imagination), and this story is, as a result, purely imaginary. It is also a story about two men in love, which means it sometimes also includes sex, so if this not your thing, or if you aren't old enough, you should stop reading now.

ALONE/TOGETHER

CHAPTER 39: FAR, AND AWAY: Part Eight: Of Fevers and Myth.

"The myth relates a sacred history, that is, a primordial event that took place at the beginning of time, ab initio (from the beginning). But to relate a sacred history is equivalent to revealing a mystery. For the persons of myth are not human beings; they are gods or culture heroes, and for this reason their gesta (exploits, deeds) constitute mysteries; man could not know their acts if they were not revealed to him. The myth, then, is the history of what took place in illo tempore (in that time), the recital of what the gods or the semidivine proclaim happened ab origine (at the beginning)."

~ Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane, p. 95 (1957).

"...until after the honeysuckle got all mixed up in it the whole thing came to symbolize night and unrest I seemed to be lying neither asleep nor awake looking down a long corridor of grey half-light where all stable things had become shadowy paradoxical all I had done shadows all I had felt suffered taking visible form antic and perverse mocking without relevance inherent themselves with the denial of significance they should have affirmed thinking I was I was not who was not who was not who."

~ William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury, p. 211 (1929).

"Always, in a high fever, his visual memory returned, giving him a secret, obscurely shameful pleasure in being ill. He wouldn't sleep again - he was far too hot - so he simply lay and let his newly opened mind's eye roam."

~ Pat Barker, The Ghost Road, p. 117 (1995).

"Do you think you'll win?" James asked, raking his fingers through his long limp still wet hair, lifting it off his forehead and hooking it behind his right ear where this time it stayed without swooping back down across his face. "Next Sunday."

"No," Aaron said, yawning and shaking his head. "Probably not."

"Do you care?"

"Not really," Aaron said, sitting up and scratching his ankle. "I think a mosquito bit me. I hate that."

"No mosquitoes this time of year," James said, eyeing the pool from which they'd just climbed. "It's not their season."

"There's no season here," Aaron said, lying back down on the red blanket he had spread on the grass and now shared with James after their swim. "It's year round."

"No it's not."

"Sure it is," Aaron said, turning on his side and facing James, his head resting on his outstretched arm, his hand nearly touching James' shoulder now. "So long as it's at least 70 degrees and there's water, you get mosquitoes."

"You know a lot of weird stuff," James said, rolling on to his side too and smiling at Aaron. "For a dude who's not a science dork."

"Is that like a compliment?"

"Sure," James laughed. "It's like a compliment, only not one."

"I think bugs are interesting," Aaron said. "Etymology."

"En-tomology is the study of bugs," James said. "Et-tomology is the study of word origins, like knowing that the word 'nerd' - which is what you are - was first used by Dr. Seuss in a 1950 book called If I Ran the Zoo."

"Oh, and so who's the nerd now?" Aaron said, laughing. "Mr. Word Origins."

"Whatever," James said, rolling onto his back and staring at the sky.

Aaron licked the end of his finger and rubbed his mosquito bite. It was pink and swollen, just below his ankle. I shouldn't scratch, he thought. Leave it alone.

"You should put some cream on it," James said, watching Aaron out of the corner of his eye. "That anti-itch stuff."

"Maybe," Aaron said, leaning back and spreading his legs slightly. "It's not so bad though."

"Do you want me to run in the house and get some?"

"No, it's okay," Aaron said.

"The magic of spit."

"Yeah - spit's got it all."

"Powerful medicine."

"A frighteningly effective weapon."

"An indication of disgust."

"And insult."

"An excellent lubricant."

"What?"

"Never mind."

"You say that a lot lately," Aaron complained, poking James in the arm with his finger. "Never mind. Never mind."

"Whatever."

"And that too. Whatever."

"If you say so," James said, scowling at Aaron. "Mr. Word Count."

"Count this," Aaron said, holding up his hand and giving James the finger.

"Yeah, well suck this," James said, pointing at his crotch as he rolled on his back and looked across the lawn, away from Aaron. "Jerk."

"James," Aaron said, regretting now that he'd let his anger show.

"Whatever."

"Come on," Aaron said, about to touch James on the arm but then deciding not to, unsure what he'd do. "I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Aaron," James said, turning his head and glaring at Aaron. "I said, whatever. So leave me alone, okay?"

"Fine," Aaron said. "Be alone."

"I just mean..."

"Is this where I say whatever? Or should I just ignore you?"

"Okay - I'm a jerk. It's settled."

"You're not a jerk."

"Okay, now I'm not a jerk," James said. "Whatever you say Aaron."

"So what do you say?" Aaron said, turning to look at James again. "Huh?"

"I say - let's forget it. It's no big deal."

"Okay," Aaron said, not satisfied by James' response but not wanting to continue the back and forth between them either.

"And don't be always psycho-analyzing everything I say. Most of it's just insane blabber, noise from the nuthouse."

"I just didn't want you to think that I was mad or thought you were a jerk."

"I'm not thinking anything except that I maybe got to take a whiz."

"You didn't go in the pool?"

"That gross dude."

"I was just joking."

"Yeah, I bet."

"So, hey - have you decided whether you're going?"

"To the show?"

"Yeah," Aaron said. "I have to let my Dad know by tomorrow or Tuesday or something. The studio's all hot to snarf up the extra tickets so we got to let them know."

"I don't think I'll go."

"How come?"

"I just don't think I want to," James said, his voice betraying no emotion. "That's all. No big."

"Come on," Aaron said, extending two fingers on his right hand as he reached over and gently nudged James' shoulder. "It'll be fun. We get to fly up on a studio plane, which I know you totally love, because it's way posh. Plus we get our own room at the hotel, a suite, and we can order room service and we get tons of cool free stuff."

"I don't like feeling like I'm a tag-along," James said, cutting Aaron off.

"A tag-along?"

"Yeah, a tag-along," James said, frowning at Aaron and then rolling onto his right side so that now his back was to him. "As in Aaron's buddy along for the ride."

"What's that about?" Aaron said, nudging James's shoulder again, trying to get him to roll back over and look at him. "You are so not a tag-along."

"If you say so," James said, rolling onto his back again, but not looking at Aaron. "Mr. Super-star."

"Okay - now you're just being dumb," Aaron said, trying not to sound angry, but plainly feeling it. "Because you know I'm not like that. And my dad would kick my ass if I ever acted that way. You so know that."

"If you say so."

"James - stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Being like this."

"Being like what?"

"Like you're all mad at me?" Aaron said, sitting up. "Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" James said, still staring up, and not at Aaron. "I'm Mr. Agreeable. Low maintenance, easy-to-like, no ticks or fleas, house-broken, man's best friend, the perfect sidekick - that's me."

"See - now you are being a jerk."

"Yes, James is being a jerk. Grumpy, moody, and disagreeable too. To which I say, yet again, what-the-fuck-ever!"

"Fuck you," Aaron said, flopping backwards on to the towel, and banging his fists on the ground. "You just want me to beg you to go."

"Yeah, and to suck my fucking dick too," James shouted. "Which won't happen, but, hey, a guy can dream, can't he?"

"I'm going inside," Aaron said, standing up, his voice quiet and subdued.

James watched Aaron pick up his shoes and t-shirt and turn toward the house. He won't go in, he thought. He won't leave me out here by myself. But why in the fuck do I do this, piss him off like this, poking at him, always trying to get a rise out of him, like it's a game? What - so he'll apologize, so he'll look me in the eye and give me that look and say he's sorry, taking responsibility for something I did, smoothing it over, making peace with me when I'm the one that started it. It's so stupid. I'm so stupid.

"Wait," James said, looking at Aaron, startled that he was actually headed for the house, and had begun to walk away. "Don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Any of it."

Aaron stopped walking, but did not immediately turn around. He was staring at the house, at the back door, as if trying to decide what to do. James felt nauseated, dizzy, confused. His mind was a clamor of contrary thoughts that seemed in less than three or four seconds to question the worth of everything he was or wanted to be. It was horrible and frightening and James wanted nothing more than to simply not be in the moment any longer. His urge to flee was nearly overwhelming, and if he had not been so paralyzed by the uncertainty of whether Aaron would turn back around, return to the blanket, he might have got up and run away as fast as he could, not bothering to look back, and perhaps not ever returning. What is going on? Why am I so fucking stupid?

"You hurt my feelings," Aaron said, turning around as he spoke. "And it was like you wanted to. That's not right."

"No it's not," James said, sitting up and pulling his knees beneath him. "It's not."

"Tell me the truth," Aaron said, staring at James, his hands balled into tight fists, his eyes squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun. "Do you not want to be friends anymore? Is that what this is about?"

"No," James said. "It's not. I want you to be my friend. Please don't go."

"All right," Aaron said, knowing that what James had just said was true, knowing it like only he could know it, based on all their years together, and seeing now the tears in his eyes. "I'll stay - here, with you."

"My mom's been driving me insane," James said, taking Aaron's hand and gently pulling him back down onto the blanket so that they were sitting facing each other. "It's - I don't know, it's just been hard lately, and I'm all...I don't know."

"Tell me," Aaron said, putting his hand on James' knee, rubbing slowly back and forth with his thumb. "Come on."

"She's dating this new guy, and he's a total jerk - just like every guy she's ever dated. I mean, it's like she's got this blind-spot when it comes to men. It pisses me off."

"He's a jerk how?"

"I don't know," James said, staring at Aaron's thumb as it rubbed the side of his knee, the gentle pressure of it making all the anger of minutes before disappear.

"Does he treat her bad?"

"I don't know. I guess not."

"Does she seem happy? I mean, does he like make her happy or what?"

"See," James said, looking up and seeing that Aaron was looking already intently at him. "That's just it, she's always like crazy-stupid-jump-around-the-house-happy when she starts seeing some new guy. It's like someone turns this light on in her and she goes from being all sort of dark and grumpy to acting like some weirded-out teenage girl."

"Maybe you should try being happy for her."

"I know - I do. I mean, I try. But none of these things ever last. She'll be like all happy for a while, and then things take a bad turn, or the guy dumps her, or cheats on her, or my mom decides she's not so into him after all. There's like a million variations, but the end of the story is always the same. My mom moping around being a bitch until she hooks up with her next Prince Charming."

"Man - you are so pessimistic James," Aaron said, pulling his hand back, but not before giving it a gently firm squeeze. "At least she keeps looking."

"For what?" James said, laughing. "A guy she can count on? Who will always be there for her? Right. That'll happen and then a winged-monkey will fly out of my butt."

"Now that's a sight I'd like to see," Aaron said, laughing now too.

"Yeah - anyway," James said, smiling and lying back down, his head propped up on his hands, and his ankles crossed. "That's life at the Craig house."

"Things will get better," Aaron said, reaching out and putting his hand on James' shoulder as he lay down next to him. "You'll see."

"I'll see one way or the other," James said, forcing a smile. "I always do."

Aaron was not sure what to say, and decided to say nothing.

"But don't worry," James said, nudging Aaron's thigh with his knee. "Everything is fine in James and Aaron land, and I'm not mad at you or anything."

"No - you were," Aaron said. "But that's okay. I shouldn't be expecting you to twenty-four-seven be wanting to do what I'm stoked about."

"You don't," James said, startled by the sadness obvious in his own voice, and unsure where it had come from. "You always listen to me A, to what I whatever have to say, even if it's stupid. You're like the only person I know who does."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is," James said.

"I think you're super smart, and interesting," Aaron said, smiling. "I like getting your take on stuff, and hearing what's going on in that crazy-whack mind of yours."

"Thanks," James said, looking at Aaron through eyes suddenly wet as he wished that he would wrap his arms around him, thinking, Please hold me.

"So I'm not in the doghouse anymore?"

"Nah - not even near it," James said, wiping his eyes on the back of his arm, and laughing. "You're free and in the clear."

"Good," Aaron said. "Because I don't want you be mad while I'm begging you to go to the Academy Awards with me."

"You don't have to beg," James said, moving his feet toward Aaron so that his toes now rested pressing on his shins. "I'll go."

"I don't want you feeling like a tag-along though."

"Aaron - I'm not going to know how I feel until I get there. But I wouldn't go if I didn't think there was at least a remote possibility I'd have fun."

"You had fun at the Golden Globes?" Aaron said, reaching down and rubbing his ankle, trying not to scratch it. "You were totally laughing and smiling and stuff. You said you had a great time."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool," James said. "Seeing Stephane win and all."

"And me lose," Aaron said, leaning his shoulder against James, and giving him a fake scowl. "Traitor."

"You won that newcomer thing."

"That wasn't even an official award thing I don't think," Aaron said. "It was like some weird honorary thing they used to give out, but then stopped, and I guess started up again. But it was fun. And I'm glad Stephane won instead of me. I hope he wins again."

"You know," James said, turning his head and smiling at Aaron. "I've never quite understood how you can always be so nice. It's weird."

"It's not weird," Aaron said, unsure if James was kidding or not. "Besides, it's not like I'm always nice."

"Pretty much - unless you're a way better actor than I thought."

"Maybe it's just you I'm nice to," Aaron said, smirking back at James, but not too convincingly. "Ever think of that?"

"Constantly," James said, laughing. "Because you know my goal in life to have your exclusive attention. Speaking of which would you mind peeling me another grape."

"You are such a nut case," Aaron said, laughing and giving James a sharp but not painful poke in the ribs. "You can go from serious to sarcastic faster than any person on earth, I swear."

"Sarcasm is the protest of the weak," James said. "To quote John Knowles."

"Who's that?"

"Come on," James said. "You know who it is. Ninth grade English...."

"Oh, the dude who wrote - what was it called?"

"A Separate Peace."

"That's it.

"I really love that book," James said. "I've read it like ten times."

"Really?"

"Totally."

"It was okay I guess," Aaron said. "That Gene guy was kind of...I don't know, he was kind of depressing. I never really got him. It was like he wanted to be sad."

James rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and took a short deep breath. Aaron watched him, puzzled at first, wondering why James had not said anything in reply, and half-expecting him to get mad again. But then James smiled, and started to talk, quoting from memory, saying, "This is where that line is from. It's my favorite part - I learned that it is the weak who are cruel, and that gentleness is to be expected only from the strong. And it is me who is my enemy, me who beats me up, me who makes the monsters, me who strips my confidence...it's me who's too weak, and it's me who's too shy to ask for the thing I love. As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak."

Aaron and James remained silent for several minutes, Aaron thinking about what James had just recited, and James waiting for Aaron to say something, to respond in some way. As he waited, he watched two curdled clouds scud slowly across sky above him. He wondered if others would follow and whether they might threaten rain. He loved when it rained, the smell of a storm, and the rough-wild sound of it.

"Do you think you're weak?" Aaron said, interrupting the silence, but only barely, because his voice was almost too quiet to be heard.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It's how I feel."

"I wish you didn't feel that way."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

"So do I."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Be my friend," James said quietly, thinking, Love me Aaron, love me. Grab me and hold me and don't ever let go.

"I am your friend."

"You remind me of Phineas," James said, thinking, Because you are beautiful and kind, and because you are good and brave and loyal.

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

"Because I'm good in sports?"

"No - well, yes," James said, thinking, You don't see it, do you Aaron?

"There's that," James said, continuing to explain. "But it's not just that."

"What else?"

"You believe that people are good," James said, looking into Aaron's eyes. "That everyone has something essentially good inside them. And so you're kind, and trusting, and you treat people with respect. I've never once seen you be intentionally cruel."

"Stop," Aaron said, blushing deeply. "I'm not all that."

Aaron looked at James. He wanted to say more, but he could not find the words to express exactly, or even inexactly, how he felt right then. His heart beat faster, and he felt his face flush. The words James just spoke had caused in him an equal mixture of confusion and delight. He wanted to thank him, to tell him how much the words meant to him. You are good too, Aaron thought, looking at James again. How could you not know that? And you mean the world to me, you must know that too, don't you?

"Thank you for asking me to go," James said, interrupting Aaron's thoughts.

"You're welcome," Aaron said, watching James roll on to his side again, and look at him, smiling shyly.

"You have to promise me something though."

"If I can - sure."

"I want you to promise that you won't be worrying the whole time about whether I'm having fun, or feeling like a tag-along or anything like that."

"I can't promise that for sure," Aaron said. "But I promise I'll try."

"Okay," James said, smiling at Aaron, and winking. "I guess that'll do."

"Anyway," Aaron said, nudging James' shin with his toe. "I can usually tell when you're not having fun."

"Oooh, Aaron the mind-reader!"

"No," Aaron said. "I'm not. But I know you pretty well, don't you think?"

"Better than I know myself sometimes."

"You think?" Aaron said, surprised by the comment.

"Stephane says I over-complicate things."

"What do you think?"

"I think I'm crazy."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"You're crazy funny."

"And you're crazy funny-looking," laughing as he stuck his tongue out at Aaron.

Aaron put his hand on top of James' hand and squeezed it. James smiled when he realized that Aaron did not intend to take his hand away, but left it to lie there, resting on his own. The slight pressure, and the warmth, reassured James that everything was right again between the two of him, which made him feel better about their conversation this afternoon. And while James was at a loss to explain the turmoil of his emotions, especially as they related to Aaron, he knew that he depended on Aaron's even nature to withstand his goading, his anger, and his doubts.

"It will be fun," Aaron said, squeezing James' hand again. "I promise."

"And if it's not?"

"It will be."

Probably," James said, turning his head and smiling at Aaron, sorry now that he'd been difficult. "Since you're the Ruler of the Planet Fun."

"I'm the God of Fun."

"The King of Fun."

"Master of All Things Fun."

"The Inventor and Patent-holder on Fun."

"I like to be with you," Aaron said, after staying silent for several seconds. "And to share things with you. It makes me happy."

"I like to be with you too."

James closed his eyes, and rolled slightly to his left, not turning his back to Aaron, but almost. He felt Aaron's hand come to rest on his shoulder, pressing lightly down, and remaining there. Sighing, James made no further move away, but neither did he return to lying fully on his back, or look again at Aaron, or acknowledge his hand on him. Smiling slightly as he sighed again, James opened his eyes and stared out across the just-cut grass, which seemed to stretch as far as he looked, even and flat. He had watched Aaron mow it an hour ago, watched his shoulders leaning powerfully forward as he pushed the lawn-mower, his legs extended behind him as he leaned forward, racing back and forth across the lawn, in a hurry to get the job done, his one chore of the day. James had raked the grass when Aaron was done mowing it, and then followed him with rake and the edger down the sage and poppy-covered slope to the small stone and timber cabin that sat just east of the house, near the edge of the arroyo. The cabin had for decades been the home of the old man, now nineteen years dead, who once owned the two acres on which JC and Lance had built their house. JC had been the one to insist that it not be torn down, and so they used it now for storage.

Back at the pool, Aaron and James stripped off their t-shirts and shoes and socks, and jumped into the water, grateful for the sudden cool relief of being engulfed by it, and for the time to relax in it, kept afloat by the steady gentle motion of arms and legs. James smiled remembering how Aaron glanced at him every few minutes, making sure he was safe. He smiled too as he remembered how their feet had touched underwater, one foot brushing against the other, on the shin or knee or calf or thigh.

When he had been much younger, just a little kid, and not a very good swimmer, James had loved to climb on to Aaron's back, wrap his arms around his neck, and hold on to him as he swam slow circles around the pool. James remembered pressing his chest against Aaron, and the slow steady surge of Aaron's legs, pushing them together through the water, one frog-kick thrust after another, his arms plunging straight ahead, spreading out, and then pulling back. James had loved to watch the water shimmer as Aaron's arms moved through it, and they glided over it.

Turning on to his stomach, James folded his left arm under his chin, and extended his right arm along side of him. It was close enough to Aaron's arm that he could feel its heat. James looked at Aaron and watched him stretching his back, putting his weight on his shoulders, and arching up so that only his shoulders and hips and heels touched the blanket. Relaxing his back, Aaron stretched his legs out, the muscles in his thighs and calves clenching as he pointed his toes and raised his feet eight inches off the ground and held them there for a minute, and then lowered them with a noisy contented sigh.

Aaron had the most beautiful legs that James had ever seen. He had decided this last year watching him play lacrosse. The bright-yellow, baggy nylon shorts he wore had stopped just short of his knees, the muscles in his lower legs were long and lithe and lean, tautening when he changed direction, zigzagging across the field, seeming beyond reach, evading all who sought him. His face obscured behind the face-mask of his helmet, James still knew it was him. Aaron had become in that moment suddenly unmistakable to him.

James opened his eyes. He had nearly fallen asleep. Raising his head off of the blanket, James turned and looked at Aaron. His eyes were shut and he looked asleep. His lips were parted, and his breathing was slow and steady.

He seemed to mumble, and clear his throat, and then he shift his weight from one side to the other, like he was trying to get more comfortable. And when he seemed to settle down, Aaron ended up closer, his hand leaning against James' hip, resting there. He hoped he did not move it. James liked the feel of it there; it was unexpected touch, but not unwelcome. Somehow it reminded him of where he was, and why. One of two young men by a pool on a sunny Sunday afternoon, lying side-by-side beneath a nearly cloudless sky. Two boys, best friends.

We are best friends, James thought. Why isn't that enough?

The sun made James sleepy. He yawned and stretched one leg, then the other. His feet were just off the end of the blanket and he dug his toes into the soft near-moist grass-covered earth. Raising himself slightly up, so that the weight of his upper body rested on his forearms and elbows, James turned his head and looked once more at Aaron as he lay next to him. His skin glistened with a patina of sweat, a small pool of it collecting in the cleft at the base of his neck. Staring now, James watched the small pool of sweat fill then overflow, a new rivulet running in a wandering arc down the middle of Aaron's chest, across the rise of it, toward his right nipple, which was the size of a nickel, dark brown, and pointed. James imagined running one of his fingers along beside the rivulet of sweat, tracing its tortuous path across Aaron's chest to the near-steep slope of his stomach where there a scattering of hair appeared, sparse but clearly visible around his navel where the sweat pooled again.

Aaron's swim trunks were pushed down low on his hips and James could see the subtle sparse spread of hair sprouting in a row that widened slightly as it descended down across his lower abdominals and disappeared beneath a waistband so loosely tied and part-opened that if he stared carefully James could see almost beneath it, see the thicker hair he knew was there growing still growing a wiry-soft thicket of it like meadow-moss matted and pressed down damp with sweat and the remnants of pool water smelling of chlorine and the musky-odor James knew was there like his own scent was and the scent of others clinging to the hair he knew was there as a harbinger a portent a signpost on the path to what was to be found nearby nestled waiting to be exposed if only he could slide those swim trunks down slide them down his long long legs disentangling them from his ankles or just leaving them there as he worked his face between his parted thighs propping them up apart and open as he slid face forward his hands slipping to hold the small of his back pulling his hips forward to crawl up to find what he knew was there waiting to be found with his nose strong sniffing and with his tongue and open mouth tasting.

James knew now he was staring, staring at Aaron as he lay there asleep. But he could not stop staring, nor stop imagining the soft hair clustering above the arc of Aaron's penis, and his faintly-furred balls. He moved closer to him, his arm now pressing more firmly against him, until Aaron stirred, and made that mumbling noise again, and James decided to wait and not move and lay still. He watched as Aaron's eyes seemed to flutter, or begin to, but not open. He was still asleep.

Shifting his shoulder, Aaron moved his left hand and rested it low on his stomach, the tips of his fingers sliding under the waistband of his swim trunks. Watching, James wanted to move his hand there too, helping Aaron's fingers to explore the border between what was now exposed, and what could be with the gentlest of pressure, with one-handed untying of the cord that laced the front of his trunks, because it was loosely-tied and Aaron would not notice it untied and opened, and him sliding his hand between Aaron's legs, holding what he found there, feeling it grow hard in his hand, as he would hear Aaron mumble and sigh, saying, Yes, put it in your mouth, I want it, I want it. I want it.

And so James would have to do it, take him fully in his mouth, slowly, in no rush to through, not like before with the others, afraid of being caught or seen, greedily guiltily gulping. No, now he would love the taste of it damp with sweat and salty, and memorize it in case he might not find it there again. And then when he had him all the way in to the sharp-tilted hilt of it, James would inhale again as deeply as possible, trying to memorize the scent, to remember its lush gorgeous sharpness always, gorging on it.

James could feel himself grow, hard his hardness pressed against the blanket, the grass and dirt pressing back. He cocked his hips forward, rocking on his erection, tensing his thighs. His eyes were closed and he breathed hard through his nose his lips tight wet and determined as his senses seemed to sharpen, the dark-dank musky-loam green-citrus earth smell of the yard mixed with the stringent smell of chlorine and sweat and the lingering clinging scent of moth-balls and wool from the blanket nearly overwhelming. And too there was the sun on his skin, and his own excited near-feverish warmth making him want to plunge again into the water, to pull away from Aaron. But he felt Aaron's hand holding him there, on his back pressing, and move up his arm and disappear and then come back, pressing against the back of his neck, rubbing him there so that he shut his eyes even more tightly closed, blocking out all but the barest hint of light. He must be awake. O was he never asleep?

James worried and wondered what Aaron would do was doing would do until he realized he was close to coming too close too near almost there too late to stop unless he lifted his hips off the blanket relieve the pressure stop rubbing no friction stop rubbing it don't come unless it's too late to not come or nearly too late to bite his lower lip lower and stop holding his breath thinking don't come don't come don't come unless he really felt his hand on his back again pressing his hips back down pressing his cock against the furrowed grass pressing his hips and thighs back hard against the earth felt his face so close to his he felt his breathing and heard his whisper, Come on baby shoot it.

The words were spoken so calmly, but imperatively, and they caused him to let go like you would from holding onto the side of the pool, plunging backwards into the warm water, letting go, so that he was hard-pressed against the blanket again, the soft earth and grass a friction furrow fit for him, the head of his penis pressing pushing hard inside his swim trunks, which was all that was needed to make him come, his eyes clenched closed like fists, his bottom lip bitten so hard he tasted blood, his breath a gasp he couldn't hold any longer as he tried to know through the thicket of all else he felt whether Aaron's hand remained on his back, push-pressing down on him, push-pressing his hips down in a firm-steady push-pushing-pushing as he gasped again, and nearly cried as he felt his shoulders spasm, and his legs tense, and his toes curl, as he buried his face in the blanket, smelling grass and dank earth through the mothball and wool scent of the blanket until the spasms stopped, and he was done convulsing, and forced to give way to too-tired panting, and to faint shiver-shudders, his chest flushed, his face near red, semen seeping clinging leaking spreading stuck and staining the front of his swim trunks, evidence visible and manifest of what had happened, what he had done.

James felt ashamed and afraid to move. And laying there, trying hard to catch his breath, and decide what to do, James heard Aaron take a deep sharp breath hard, exhale it slowly, and then begin to gasp. He wanted to look, to roll his head to the side, slip open one eye, or two, to see what Aaron was doing, to see what he knew Aaron must be doing. But he couldn't look. He had to get away, to run away, to flee. He couldn't believe that this had happened, both so close to, and yet so far away from, at least a hundred fantasies he had had about Aaron and him. This isn't how it was supposed to be.

Jumping to his feet, James mumbled something about needing to pee and then tried to run. But his feet seemed to stick to the grass no matter how hard he strained to move them. Aaron's back was arching now - he could see it. No, don't look. Aaron's head rocked back and forth, his face was flushed and wet with sweat, his mouth hung open with the tip of his tongue pressed hard against his upper lip, the muscles in his legs were tensed and taut, his hand was nearly a blur as it pumped up and down his hard-on, the head of it wet, the schlup-schlup-schlup of his hand so loud he knew someone else must be hearing it too. Stop, Aaron - stop. Not like this. No. But Aaron was staring at him, his eyes narrow and intense, saying, Suck it you know you want to.

"James," Aaron said, shaking his shoulder. "You're getting sunburned."

"What?" James mumbled into the blanket, disoriented. "What?"

"Come on," Aaron said, shaking his shoulder again. "Get up."

James rolled over, rubbing his eyes. His chin was damp from where he drooled on it. He could hardly see. The sun was glaring-bright and his eyes had not yet adjusted. His left arm was asleep from where he'd been laying on it and he shook it trying to get the blood circulating again, grimacing at the electric stabs of pain coursing through it. Shaking his head, James squinted and looked at Aaron.

"What's going on?"

"We fell asleep," Aaron said smiling at James.

"Asleep?"

"Most of you did," Aaron said, pointing at the front of James' swim-trunks, which were notably tented up.

"Fuck you," James said, but not angrily, as he stood up and adjusted his erection so that it wasn't pointing straight out. "You fall asleep, you bone up. Fact of life man."

"Yeah, I got a half-one going," Aaron said, scratching the back of his neck, as he picked up hi shoes. "Anyway - you hungry?"

"Kind of."

"I'm starving."

"You wanna get some grub somewhere?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, picking up the blanket and then his shoes and t-shirt. "Let's get showered. We can go to City Deli. I'm totally jonesing for a patty melt."

"That sounds good."

"You can use my Dad's shower," Aaron said, watching James stuff his socks into his shoes and then toss his t-shirt over his shoulder.

"You going to join me?" James said, smirking then winking at him.

"Right," Aaron said, laughing, then turning and walking toward the house.

"What?" James called after Aaron. "You afraid you might finally get some?"

Aaron glanced over his shoulder at James and rolled his eyes at him. Laughing, James jogged up next to Aaron, punching him in the shoulder when he reached him. The sun was lower in the sky now. James imagined it was probably near four o'clock. Aaron threw his arm around James' shoulder and pulled him close to him.

"You're a pervert," Aaron whispered in James ear, laughing softly.

"Yeah, but I'm your pervert," James said, laughing too.

"Well, I guess you've got me there," Aaron said, pulling James by the arm toward the backdoor of the house, opening it for him, then playfully shoving him through it.

"Hey," James said, stumbling over the threshold, and exaggerating the prospect of his falling. "Don't kill me just because I'm sexier than you."

"Shut up," Aaron said, shoving James again, still playfully.

James turned around laughing and ran towards the stairs. Aaron ran after him, hitting him from behind with his t-shirt. The two of them climbed the stairs quickly, laughing like they had so often laughed before, like little boys racing to see who would be the first to the top. Smiling, Aaron watched James' thin legs and narrow waist, and his feet slapping against the carpet.

He had always been quicker of the two of them at racing up the stairs. Aaron laughed like he always had watching James' quick mad-scramble up them, and the way he always held his arms up the air in a victory sign when he reached the top before him, which he always did. But back when there were younger, they really had showered together all the time, after getting out of the pool, before dinner or lunch or going to movie, whatever next was on the agenda. That had stopped three years ago, and Aaron hadn't really thought about that until just now.

Aaron stopped at the door to his bedroom and watched James walk further down the hall toward his dads' bedroom. James glanced back as he pushed open the partially closed door, the bottom edge of it dragging across the thick carpet underneath. He looked at Aaron standing there, his swim trunks as low on his hips as was possible without them falling off, his legs spread, and his arms crossed on his chest. Blushing, James looked at the floor and back into bedroom, beginning to move, then stopping. He looked down the hall at Aaron again and smiled.

"I was just kidding about the shower," James said, almost too softly for Aaron to hear. "You know, about you and me taking one together."

"Yeah, I know," Aaron said, frowning a little as he watched James disappear into his parents' room. "We're way too old for that now."

"Wow Dad," Aaron said, standing in the doorway to his parents' bedroom. "You really look sort of green."

"Great," JC said, looking at Aaron from under the blanket he had pulled up all the way to his chin. "That makes me feel a whole lot better."

"Sorry," Aaron said, shrugging. "Are you sick?"

"Yeah," JC said, nodding his head, and sticking out his bottom lip like a little kid would when pouting. "I feel awful."

"What's wrong?" Aaron said, walking over and standing at the foot of the bed.

"I think it's the flu," JC said, looking up at Aaron and squinting.

"Do you want me to shut off the ceiling light?"

"Would you?"

"Sure thing," Aaron said, walking over to light switch on the wall near the door and turning it off. "How's that?"

"Better."

"I thought you were getting a flu shot?" Aaron said, sitting down on the end of the bed. "Like three months ago."

"I forgot," JC said, shrugging his shoulder.

"That's not cool," Aaron said, gently reproaching him. "You have to take care of yourself. Isn't that what you always tell me?"

"Yes, I know," JC said, stiffly. "I already got the lecture from your Dad, so you can spare me the repeat."

"Okay," Aaron said, smiling to himself as he remembered his Dad grousing about JC this morning, saying that he hated needles too, but he got his shot anyway. "Can I get you anything? Water or something?"

"Maybe a loaded gun."

"That's not funny Dad," Aaron said, frowning.

"Sorry," JC said. "I'm feeling a bit melodramatic. I hate being sick."

"You're going to be well enough for the Academy Awards, aren't you?"

"I don't know sweetie," JC said, smiling sadly. "This thing just kicked in. And it usually gets worse before it gets better."

"There's four days to go though. That should be enough time - don't you think?"

"Sweetie - I really do want to be there," JC said, looking at Aaron. "You know that - don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Aaron said, trying not to seem disappointed.

"And I will be there - if I can."

"I know," Aaron said, sliding up the bed and lying next to JC. "Don't feel bad."

"You should probably stay out of the germ zone," JC said, loosing one arm from under the blanket and gently stroking Aaron's forehead.

"I got my shot," Aaron said. "Remember?"

"Okay," JC said. "Point taken."

"I'm just teasing you Dad."

"I know sweetie," JC said. "I'm just being grumpy. I always get this way when I'm sick, grumpy and melodramatic. It's not you."

"How about a hug then," Aaron said, crawling up the bed and wrapping his arms around JC, not waiting for his response. "Those always help."

"Okay," JC said, groaning a little as Aaron hugged him. "Not too tight though."

"How was that?" Aaron said, leaning back from JC and smiling at him.

"I'm practically cured."

"Right on," Aaron said, sitting up, his legs pulled close to him, his ankles crossed, and his arms resting on his thighs.

"So, Dad - can I ask you a question?"

"Oh-oh."

"What?"

"No one asks to ask a question unless an oh-oh is in order."

"Okay, that's probably true."

"Can you flip my pillow for me?" JC asked, raising his shoulders up.

"Sure thing," Aaron said, pulling the pillow out from behind JC's head, turning it over, and then sliding it back into place. "How's that?"

"That's good," JC said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So what's your question?"

"Well, you know how we talked about sex before, and you said I could ask you anything I wanted - right?"

"Why do I think I'm about to regret that statement?"

"Dad - be serious."

"All right," JC said, pulling his hand from beneath the covers and laying it on top of Aaron's forearm, just above his hand. "Sorry."

"How old were you when you had sex for the first time?"

"I don't suppose you'd like to ask Lance this question instead of me."

"I already know his answer" Aaron said. He was eighteen, and it was with you."

"It wasn't something we did right off either," JC said, his voice serious, but not stern nor preaching. "We waited quite a few months."

"You still did stuff though, I mean like..."

"Um - Aaron," JC said, interrupting him, then stopping to think, a puzzled and slightly uncertain look on his face.

"You don't want to talk about this, do you?"

"Aaron," JC said. "I'll talk to you about anything you want. And I'll tell you just about anything you want. But if you're looking for the gory details here..."

"No, I know. I was just saying that it wasn't like all you and Dad did was kiss and hold hands and stuff.

"No," JC said, pursing his lips together and nodding. "But your Dad and me still took it way slow. And no just because were like nervous, or scared, or trying to be on all our best behavior. We were building a relationship, and it was fun."

"Like fun how?"

"Like fun trying every new thing together. And not just like in bed."

"Like on the floor or something?" Aaron said, laughing even though he knew he probably shouldn't be.

"No Aaron," JC said, shaking his head and frowning "Like taking a shower with him for the first time, and washing each other's hair. Or going on a date - a real date."

"Like where Dad would ask you to go out with him?"

"Exactly," JC said, smiling at the memory of it.

"That's cool."

"It was," JC said. "I'd never been on a date before. Not one where someone had planned out everything ahead of time, you know, like choosing the restaurant or movie or whatever, and then asked me out, and picked me up at my house and all that."

"Dad did that?"

"Yeah - he was very sort of traditional about it. And I love it."

"That really cool."

"And it's why we took our time," JC said.

"But what about your first time before Dad? That's what I was wondering about, like why'd you do that?"

"For all the wrong reasons."

"Like what?"

"Like wanting to have someone like me. And to feel more grown-up?"

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen."

"That's not so young."

"Wait until you're my age," JC said, wincing as he swallowed as his voice turned suddenly hoarse. "You'll think it's plenty young."

"Does your throat hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want some water?"

"Maybe a little."

Aaron sat up and reached across JC and took a bottle of water off of the bedside table. Unscrewing the cap, Aaron helped JC sit up and handed him the bottle. JC drank slowly, wincing again, but less so now. When he was done drinking, he handed the bottle back to Aaron, who put the cap back on and set it on the table again.

"I can get you some aspirin or something too if you want."

"I took some naproxen a little while ago."

"Okay," Aaron said, lying next to JC again, sidling up to him, and resting his head on his shoulder. "I wish you were feeling better."

"Me too sweetie."

"I could leave you alone to get some sleep if you want me to."

"No - I like you here," JC said, gently rubbing Aaron's forehead with the tips of his finger. "And I don't mind our little talk either. So don't worry."

"Are you sure?" Aaron said, pursing his lips then smiling. "Because we can talk about this stuff later. I probably won't be having sex until at least next Thursday."

"Who's telling not-funny jokes now?" JC said, plainly not amused.

"Dad, it was a joke - don't trip out."

"Hey," JC said, swiveling his head and looking Aaron in the eye. "Do I look like I'm tripping-out or laughing?"

"No," Aaron said, closing his eyes and slowly shaking his head.

"Is there someone you think you want to have sex with?" JC asked, pressing his hand once more against Aaron's cheek. "Is that why you asked about this?"

"Not really," Aaron said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, turning his head to look across the room, staring at the wall, and thinking. "I mean, I don't know - I don't know what I mean."

"Well, it's obviously something you've been thinking about."

"Yeah," Aaron said, blushing. "It is."

"So?"

"So - I don't really know," Aaron said, giving JC a frustrated glance, then resting his head back on JC's shoulder. "Or I don't think I do. I mean, sure, I've been thinking about it, not like all the time, but lately - so, it's there, like on my mind, thinking about sex and hooking up and, I don't know, like with whomever, but not anyone special."

"What?" JC said, sitting up and looking sharply at Aaron.

"No, dad - I meant like in particular. Not someone not special."

"Oh," JC said, nodding at Aaron, and then laying his head back against the pillow. "Okay then."

"Not that there aren't plenty of potential not specials out there who'd jump at the chance to get some of me," Aaron said. "If you know what I mean."

"Only too well," JC said, not sure whether to be worried by what Aaron had just said, or reassured. "Which is why..."

"Dad - I know. It's not like I want any of that action. But it's there, and I can't help but think about it sometimes. I mean, I am a guy."

"That doesn't mean you have to act like one, at least not in that way."

"Message received Dad."

"I hope so."

"Yeah, don't worry - I ain't going there," Aaron said. "I'd never hear the end of it from James anyway. He calls them my ho-posse - he thinks it's funny."

"But you don't."

"It's a total pain," Aaron said. "Girls following me around school, hanging out at my locker, showing up at lacrosse practice, offering all the time to give me a ride home."

"Or calling the house at all hours."

"Like that - totally," Aaron said, sounding disgusted. "I mean, having to get our number changed, how crazy-whacked is that?"

"Well, being in a big movie, you know, it's going to...

"I know Dad," Aaron said, sighing. "You don't have to say it."

"Aaron - I'm just saying that not everyone who pursues you is going to have your best interests at heart."

"That part I get," Aaron said. "Dad's beat that drum hard."

"Good."

"The part I don't really get," Aaron said, sitting up, and turning around so that his legs stretched toward the head of the bed, and he was now looking at JC. "Is like how to decide, you know, with who. Like sometimes I think it'd be easier just to get it over with, you know, like super casual. But - I know, I know - that isn't right, hooking up on the fly with a whoever. So even though there's that, I'm still thinking like, you know, I still need to be ready, because it's not like it's not out there as an issue, and because however it plays, it's going to happen sooner or later, since I'm like almost sixteen and all."

"You're fifteen - barely."

"Dad - you know what I mean."

"Sure," JC said. "But do you know what I mean?"

"Dad, don't trip out," Aaron said, clenching his teeth and giving his head a quick, frustrated side-to-side shake. "Come on - it's not like I'm all up and thinking of it like a driver's license or something, like, Oh, wow, hey, I'm sixteen, now I get to have sex. Give me some credit."

"Aaron - I give you tons of credit," JC said, about to sit up, but deciding to turn his head instead to look at Aaron. "The fact that we're talking about this before you - it is before isn't it?"

"Yes Dad," Aaron said, rolling his eyes. "It's still before."

"Okay, good," JC said, smiling. "Anyway - the fact that we're talking about this before you've made a decision make me have more faith in your ability to make it."

"It just seemed like you were saying I shouldn't even be thinking about it."

"Aaron, think about it all you want," JC said, looking like he was about to sit up, but then deciding not to. "Seriously - thinking is a good thing. What I'm worried about is what you do, and when you do it."

"No," Aaron said, looking at his hands then at JC. "What you're worried about is whether I do it, and I know you don't want me to - that's part's obvious Dad."

"Good," JC said, his voice tired, and his eyes half-closed for a moment.

"I'm not going to be a virgin my whole life Dad. I'm going to have sex."

"Aaron - I'm not going to give you the big speech about not jumping off a bridge just because everyone else is doing it. My mother gave me that speech and I pretty much think I'd barf before I got through half of it. But what I am going to tell you is this: if you don't respect yourself enough to wait to for someone who loves you, who cares about you and wants the best for you, if you want to have sex because you can, with people willing to give themselves up to you because you're picture's been on the cover of some stupid fucking magazine, well, don't come crying to me if it all turns out badly because the only thing I'll have to say is, Boo-fucking-hoo, told you so."

As JC had spoken these words, Aaron stared at his hands, unwilling to meet JC's gaze, which he knew would be steely. For the third or fourth time since they'd started to talk, Aaron wished he'd not asked JC about his having sex. He had assumed JC would, of his dads, be the one most willing to be laid back about the subject, freer in his advice, and more liberal in the leeway he was willing to grant to him. Part of Aaron wanted to get the whole sex-thing over with, like some sort of test he needed to pass before he could get on to other, maybe better, things. But hearing what JC had just said, he realized that he'd misjudged him.

"Do you wish you never had sex with those other people?"

"Part of me does," JC said, pausing to catch his breath, regretting now how angry he had become, and to trying to calm down. "But it is what it is, and I can't go back and change what happened. There's no time-machine."

"I guess not," Aaron said, his head tilted down, but his eyes upturned, and looking at JC. "Maybe someday."

"I'm sorry I seemed angry before," JC said, pulling his hand from beneath the blankets and rubbing Aaron's ankle.

"Hey," Aaron said, laughing as he pulled his foot away from JC. "That tickles."

"Sorry," JC said, half-laughing too. "I always forget."

"That's okay," Aaron said, slipping his feet under the pillows next to where JC's head lay. "You aren't as bad as James, who totally does it on purpose."

"How is James?"

"He's okay," Aaron said, after thinking about his answer first. "Sort of - I don't know, moody I guess, like sometimes he gets tripping pissed at really little stuff, like out of fucking nowhere..."

"Aaron."

"Sorry Dad."

"It's okay," JC said, smiling. "We're even now."

"I'm still two behind."

"How about if we just call it even."

"Yeah, okay," Aaron said, smiling.

"So you were saying about James."

"Yeah - he's just way more hair-trigger and high maintenance in like the feelings department lately. I'm not sure why, except he's on a total boyfriend hunt so he may be tripping because of that."

"Boyfriend hunt, huh?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, frowning slightly. "I think he's had sex before too."

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know," Aaron said, pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes at the corners. "It's just - I don't know, it's not like I know for sure or anything. It's more a feeling I have."

"How come?"

"He's always sort of semi-bragging about him being so much more clued-in than me, you know, about sex. And he's always talking about how sexy the dudes in France were, and how way more open-minded, you know, sort of like hinting he knows based on experience, but never saying it flat out or anything."

"Have you asked him?"

"I'm afraid he'd tell me," Aaron said, suddenly laughing and not sure why.

"There's that," JC said smiling.

"Anyway, it's not like James is shy about telling people he's gay."

"Does that bother you, that James is so open about being gay?"

"Sometimes," Aaron said, looking at his hand, then back at JC. "But not because I think it's bad or anything. I mean, duh, there's no way I'd be thinking that, obviously. But, I don't know - I guess sometimes I do wonder like what he's thinking about me, like if he's attracted to me, I don't know...you know, like in that way."

"Are you attracted to him?"

"What?" Aaron said, half-shouting, his face flushed a deep red.

"I said..."

"No, I heard you," Aaron said. "But, jaysus Dad, why be fronting me a question like that?"

"Hey - you're the one that asked about sex."

"Yeah, but aren't you and Dad always saying that I can ask you anything."

"And you can," JC said, coughing into his hand. "Sorry - one sec..."

JC coughed several more times, lifting himself up off his pillows, and supporting himself on his elbows. His face turned red as he coughed. Aaron looked at him, frowning and wrinkling his brow. Taking JC's hand into his own, Aaron held it while he waited for him to stop coughing. When he finally did, Aaron smiled, but continued to hold JC's hand. It was hot. Aaron could tell he had a fever, and it worried him. JC looked at Aaron and leaned back slowly until his head was back on his pillow, half-submerged in it. Aaron pulled the blankets up under JC's chin and tucked them there.

"Are you okay Dad?" Aaron asked. "I can get you another blanket."

"I think I'll be okay," JC said, shivering as he tried to smile. "But thank you."

"Sure," Aaron said, sliding up close to JC again, and gently resting his arm across JC's chest. "I wish you felt better though."

"I'll live - I hope."

"Dad, what did I say about that?"

"Sorry."

"You should be, because that's so not funny."

"You sound just like your Dad now," JC said, looking up at Aaron through moist narrow eyes. "Which is not such a bad thing I guess."

"You really think I'm like Dad?"

"Yeah I do," JC said, trying to suppress another bout of coughing. "Very much."

"I think I'm like you too," Aaron said, looking at JC as his head continued to rest on his shoulder. "Like in how I love music."

"Oh yeah, you used to beg me to practice the piano," JC said, nudging Aaron with his elbow. "And all those tears if I didn't let you - oh my, that was horrible."

"Okay - score one sarcasm point for Dad," Aaron said laughing. "I think that ties it up, doesn't it?"

"No, I'm still way ahead there."

"Hmmm - and I wonder where I get my super-competitiveness from."

"It isn't Lance," JC said, rolling his eyes and scoffing. "That's for sure."

"I remember my first little league game. Dad was all, don't worry about winning, it's only a game, just try to have fun. And you were all, get a hit Aaron and I'll take you out for ice cream after."

"Don't forget the dollar for every hitter you struck-out."

"Oh yeah," Aaron said, laughing. "And soccer goals too."

"Your Dad was so pissed at me when he found out."

"I didn't tell him," Aaron said.

"Neither did I," JC said, squinting as he tried to remember. "Or did I?"

"Yes you did, remember?"

"Not really," JC said, frowning. "Give me a hint."

"No hitter."

"That's right," JC said, softly slapping Aaron's knee. "You were what?"

"Thirteen - it was my first year in junior league. We made the semi-finals."

"Oh and that stupid-ass Pirates team beat you in the final round."

"And Dad had to keep you from hitting that lady."

"That bitch, I so wanted to fucking..."

"Dad," Aaron said, as he burst out laughing.

"Sorry," JC said, taking a short deep breath as he pushed the hair from his eyes.

"We beat them the next year though."

"What'd that one cost me?"

"A new bike."

"And a ten minute lecture from Lance," JC said. "But it was worth it."

"I hope so."

"Hey - seeing the look on that bitch's face when you picked off her son at first for the final out, I wouldn't trade that memory for anything in the world."

"You're funny," Aaron said.

"But not funny-looking."

"No," Aaron said, leaning his head back down on JC's shoulder. "You're not."

The two of them lay quietly for awhile, JC catching his breath from laughing and talking, and Aaron thinking again about what JC had asked about James. He had never considered or seen or looked at James as someone who he might want or be able to have sex with. Not because James was male and gay, or because Aaron knew for sure that he was not himself gay, and could not be attracted in that way to James. No, it was because he felt already so close to James, and there contact was already so intimate, it had never occurred to him that some sort of deeper or different desire was needed to bring them together. They were already together, weren't they?

Aaron never fantasized about James either, or imagined having sex with him.

He had seen him without clothes naked nude undressed showering peeing swimming asleep. He had seen him half-hard stepping from the shower. He had seen him wake with a hard-on half-poking out of his boxers. He had more than once overheard the quiet grunt and smothered gasp of him trying to jerk-off quietly in the bathroom. He had watched him dress hundreds of times, the way he crouched down to pull up his pants, not bending over, sliding the pants up his thin legs, always with his back to him, his spine and shoulder blades visible through the thin fabric of the t-shirts he always wore. James was pervasive in his life. He did not need to imagine him. He needed only to look, he needed only to see, to find him.

But what of what he hadn't seen, or couldn't have seen, like the six months that James spent in France. Did you find a boyfriend James? Someone you could trust enough to be with, like my Dad said? Or maybe you found a gay friend, someone who you could talk to about stuff that you don't talk about with me? Did he show you stuff? Did you have sex with him? What did you do? Did he kiss you soft quick tender hard long slow nasty wet what? Were you naked with him - undressed unclothed half-clothed your pants pulled down his pants pulled down shirt on shirt off unbuttoned undone your briefs around your knees with a boy teenager man stranger friend who? Who were you alone together with in bed on the floor on a couch in a chair on a table outside inside where? Where were you touched petted fondled probed kissed massaged licked bit sucked humped caressed fingered touched stroked or what? What did he do to you with you on you in you - no, not in you. Was he in you? No, it's none of my business. Stop.

"I'm not attracted to James," Aaron said, startling JC who had begun to drift off to sleep. "Not in that way, you know, like wanting to have sex with him."

"All right," JC said, shaking his head and wincing when it caused his head to hurt.

"I didn't bring this up because - you know, because I was like thinking that."

"About James."

"Right - about James.

"Because you're not gay."

"No," Aaron said, emphatically. "Because James is my best friend, and you don't think of a best friend like that. It's wrong."

"So there's a rule?"

"Yeah."

"But your father is my best friend."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is."

"Okay."

"It is," Aaron said, insisting. "You guys are in love."

"We were friends first Aaron."

"Yeah," Aaron said flatly. "So -"

"So nothing," JC said, trying to stifle a yawn, but not quite able to. "If you have it figured out already, that's great."

"Are you tired?"

"A little."

"Do you want me to go?" Aaron asked, half-pouting. "So you can sleep."

"No," JC said, grabbing Aaron's arm. "It makes me feel better to have you here."

"Even though I'm bothering you with all this, and acting like a jerk?"

"You're not bothering me sweetie," JC said, rolling further onto his side so he didn't have to crane his neck to look Aaron in the eyes. "You really aren't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup. And you're not acting like a jerk either."

"I sort of feel like I am," Aaron said, tilting his head forward and looking at JC. "I don't know why, but I do."

"Don't," JC said, cupping Aaron's face in his hand, and giving him a kind smile.

"So you and Dad were really friends before you fell in love?"

"Yeah - I think so," JC said. "We spent a lot of time together in Europe and all. It was a pretty stressful time and we all sort of stuck together. Plus I remember thinking that Lance was having a tough time of it, and I always tried to be nice to him - you know, to cheer him up and help him."

"Dad said you used to buy treats for him, after rehearsals and stuff."

"Happy Hippo Treats - those were his favorites."

"No way - that's too funny."

"They were these crazy little crispy wafer-things with hazelnut filling, covered all over in chocolate. They were so good."

"Yum - right on."

"We'd sneak off somewhere and have a few, and just kick back and relax and talk about what was happening. It seemed like no big deal at the time, but maybe it was."

"Were you surprised when you realized you were falling in love with Dad?"

"I'd say terrified is probably the better description."

"Of what?"

"I don't know - being hurt, hurting him, the usual stuff."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Not for a long while. A really long while."

"Like how long?"

"Like a few months after your Dad and I got back together again, after - well, you know what happened."

"Parts," Aaron said. "Not all."

"No one knows it all," JC said. "Not even us."

"But you told him how scared you were?"

"And still am."

"What?" Aaron said, stunned by JC's admission. "You think Dad might leave or go away again or something?"

"No," JC said. "But there's a lot of ways you can lose someone Aaron."

"Like them dying."

"That's one."

"Well I don't want you and Dad to be apart again. That's just wrong."

"And risk your fury?" JC said, smiling.

"I'm serious Dad."

"I know," JC said, taking Aaron's hand and looking him in the eye. "So am I."

"Yeah, okay," Aaron said, speaking tentatively at first, the side of his mouth then edging into a half-smile. "If you say so."

"Let me tell you something about your Dad," JC said, holding Aaron's hand more tightly now. "From the start, he was the one that believed. Not me."

"In what?"

"In love, and it's power."

"You didn't?"

"Oh - maybe I did a little still, like someone who believes in God but never goes to church, except at Christmas, when you're expected to, and because the songs are pretty and everyone dresses up nice. But you see, that was how your Dad was different than me. He believed in love - not as some made-up myth that people wanted to believe because it made them feel better. No, he really believed that there was someone out there for him, someone special, someone he was meant to be with, someone worth waiting for..."

"You."

"Me."

"And he waited for you."

"He waited for me."

"And he found you."

"Yes he did," JC said, speaking in a whisper, his eyes suddenly wet with tears. "And when we kissed that first time, when Lance stood up and walked over to me, and I walked over to him, and when he kissed me, do you know what?"

"What?" Aaron asked, enthralled by what JC was telling him, even though he had heard this story many times before, each time different but somehow the same, each time making him feel as if he could see the moment that JC now described, the moment when JC and Lance's love had come into existence.

"I could tell that he believed," JC said, speaking slowly, solemnly, with an almost prayer-like cadence. "I could feel the faith in his kiss. And so I grabbed hold of him, like a drowning man would I grabbed hold of him, and his faith, and I swore that, as long as there was a breath left in my body, as long as I was still alive, I'd never let go of him, not so long as he still believed in love, and still believed in me. Your Dad saved me that day Aaron. I was drowning and didn't even know it. But he saved me."

"From what?"

"Myself," JC said in a voice so steely flat with honesty that it made Aaron cringe. "And from being alone, really alone."

"Was it horrible to be apart from him, you know, when..."

"Yes."

"You're not alone now."

"No I'm not," JC said, managing a weak smile. "And everyday I'm grateful for that, grateful for all the things Lance does for me, his care, his love - I don't think I could live without him. I really don't."

"Wow," Aaron said, the word but a whisper, and more a breath than a word.

"I had never been kissed like that before," JC said, his eyes closed again, this time by the gentle insistent force of how tired he felt, and how weak. "It was so respectful, so gentle, so grateful, so generous, and so true. It asked nothing more of me than a kiss like that in return. And I'll tell you, I was more than happy to do that. I still am."

JC's eyes were closed, and it seemed suddenly to Aaron as if JC was no longer there, like he'd drifted off somewhere far and away, to the primordial moment he had just described, transported there outside of time by the twin powers of memory and love.

Watching the muscles in JC's face seem to soften, the tension ease away, Aaron knew that JC was thinking about Lance, thinking about the life they had created together, because it was created, not simply found or followed, like a path prepared before them by others. Aaron took JC's hand, which had slipped from beneath the blankets, and he gently tucked it underneath again.

Then he leaned forward and let his lips touch JC's cheek, kissing him as lightly as he could, not wanting to wake him.

"Aaron," JC said, whispering, his voice full of breath and sleepiness, his eyes half-open. "I hope you have a kiss like that someday, and that you'll have the patience and faith to wait for it, wait for it like your Dad did. That's what I hope."

"I'll try my best Dad," Aaron said, resting his head on the two pillows piled next to JC, still looking at him, in wonder. "I promise."

Lance had readily agreed to host the Scientific and Technical Academy Awards. The awards were presented at a separate ceremony that was taped, but not televised live. Lance thought the awards were interesting, and that people who had invented things like advanced compositing software, high-speed digital audio recorders, and the computerized axial camera-crane deserved recognition. Colin, who Lance had convinced to host with him, laughingly called it the geek show. But afterwards, Colin had still happily followed Lance around the room to meet the winners, pose for pictures, and congratulate them.

The ceremony had been held mid-afternoon at the Beverly Hilton hotel. When it was over Colin and Lance met Toni for drinks and dinner at the Musso and Frank Grill in Hollywood. She had just finished shooting a film for Paul Thomas Anderson and was, as she put it, "looking to decompress."

"That man is crazy seven ways from Sunday," she'd roared, downing the first of several manhattans, a cocktail she insisted she'd single-handedly make trendy again.

"I guess I'm glad I didn't take that part," Lance had said, eyeing Colin out of the corner of his eye, knowing that he'd turned it down too.

"You'd have made a lovely Jake Barnes," Toni had said, leaning across the table and patting Lance's hand. "And you would have kept your hands off my ass, unlike Nick, who apparently does not understand the meaning of the phrase, 'Touch me again and I'll snap your pecker off' - what an asshole."

The talk had gone on like this for two hours, through drinks and dinner, until Toni had turned down Lance's repeated invitation for her to come back to San Diego, and he and Colin said their final good-byes. The flight to San Diego took under an hour, Colin sleeping most of the way. When they arrived back at the house, Colin said a quick good-night and headed to the guest room that had become his de facto second home; it was where he stayed when not in Dublin or filming somewhere. Lance watched his familiar slump-shouldered amble and then turned to climb the stairs to go to bed himself.

Lance found Aaron sleeping next to JC, his left arm resting protectively across JC's chest. Leaning forward over the bed, Lance placed his hand on Aaron's shoulder and gently shook it, whispering his name, and then helping him up off the bed and down the hall to his bedroom. Aaron quickly undressed, stripping down to a pair of boxer shorts that Lance thought were his, and slipped under the covers, which Lance held up for him. Smoothing the comforter over him, Lance kissed Aaron lightly on the cheek, whispering - "Good night Big Guy."

Aaron rolled onto his side and slid his left arm beneath his pillow. Looking up at Lance, he yawned and then let his eyes slowly close. Lance smiled as he reached down to smooth Aaron's comforter again, even though it didn't need it, and then turned toward the door, eager to see how JC was feeling.

"Dad," Aaron said, calling after Lance as he was about to leave his room.

"Yeah?" Lance said, stopping and turning around.

"Why were you and Dad apart for so long?"

"It wasn't so long."

"It was a while though."

"It was," Lance said. "It was a while ago too."

"Was it because..."

"Aaron," Lance said, walking back to Aaron's bed and crouching down in front of him. "Your Dad and I always loved each other, and we didn't stop. It was just... it was just I think that for a little while we forgot how much we meant to each other, and what it was that had brought us together in the first place."

"Don't forget again - okay?"

"I won't Aaron," Lance said, smiling at him through the dim moonlit room.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay," Aaron said, yawning loudly as he pulled his blankets more tightly around his shoulders. "Good."

"Sweet dreams Aaron."

"Thanks Dad."

"Don't mention it," Lance said, kissing Aaron on the cheek again.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right," Lance said, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently rubbing JC's too-hot forehead. "Because Aaron will be fine with Colin, and I don't so much care about being at the Awards, not if you're sick."

"No - go," JC said, his voice a hoarse constricted whisper. "What if Aaron wins and you're not there? That would suck."

"But you won't be there," Lance said, knowing he had to go, but still not wanting to, not without JC. "And I hate to leave you alone like this."

"I know," JC said. "But it can't be helped."

"I guess."

"Besides, it's not like I'm very good company at the moment anyway."

"Hey, don't say that," Lance said, pulling his legs up onto the bed as he slid up close to JC and wrapped his arms around him. "I don't like to be away from you. Ever."

"You're sweet," JC said, kissing Lance's chin.

"You're hot."

"Literally."

"And figuratively."

"Don't get any ideas, Romeo."

"A man can dream, can't he?" Lance said, laughing.

"I couldn't get a hard-on right now if my life depended on it."

"Oooh - stop. You know how I love a challenge."

"I love you," JC said, whispering it.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well I love you too."

"When do you have to go?"

"Pretty soon," Lance said, kissing JC a second time softly on the cheek. "Collin and Aaron are loading the car right now."

"Aaron already came up and said good-bye."

"He told me."

"Be sure to hug him for me if he wins," JC said. "Or if he doesn't."

"You'll get your chance when we get home."

"Don't rush back. Let him have fun. It's his night."

"I know. You told me."

"I just don't want you to be all worried about me."

"Fat chance of that," Lance said, giving JC a gentle squeeze and kissing the side of his neck. "With my man home sick and in bed."

"I'll be all right."

"You better be."

"I will."

"Are you sure?"

"Lance - stop."

"I can't help it."

"Yeah - I know," JC said. "So do you think Aaron will win?"

"He just might."

"I think he will," JC said, looking at Lance and trying to smile.

"Do you want me to call if he does?"

"No, I'm going to watch."

"All right," Lance said, kissing JC again, this time on the lips, and hugging him.

"Not too tight sweetie," JC said, groaning. "My body really hurts."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," JC said, watching Lance stand up.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay, because I can have Mel come over."

"I'll be fine. Now go."

"All right," Lance said, frowning. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it."

"I will."

"Okay," Lance said, his lips pressed together, trying to smile, knowing he needed to go, but so badly not wanting to.

"Lance - go," JC said, touched by the bashful almost little-boy look Lance had on his face. "They'll be up here soon looking for you."

"All right," Lance said, taking a deep breath and waving at JC. "See you later."

"Have a safe trip."

"We will."

"And don't be worrying every minute about me. Have some fun."

"Unlikely, but I'll try."

"Okay."

"I love you Josh," Lance said, kissing JC one last time before turning to leave.

"I love you too," JC said, whispering the words after him, knowing Lance did not need to hear them to know he meant it more than ever.

And he did.

"Are you going to watch for me on TV mom?"

"When's it on again?" Luanne asked, looking up at James from where she sat on the couch reading the National Enquirer. "Monday? Because if it is, I'll see it at work."

"It's Sunday mom," James said, glaring at her from where he stood near the front window, waiting for Aaron to get there to pick him up. "I told you like a million times."

"I got a date on Sunday," Luanne said, ignoring the look James was giving her.

"With that idiot guy from the hotel, Tony Spaz-matic."

"It's Tony Spazzoli, and he's not an idiot."

"Yeah, if you say so mom," James said, turning his back to her, staring again out the window. "I'm sure he'll be filling out his application for Harvard Law any day now."

"You got a fucking smart mouth on you, you know that?"

"Well thanks mom, I guess private school has really paid off then."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled.

"Yeah, yeah," James said, repeating what his mother had said, and whispering it through gritted teeth.

"I'll tape it and watch it later."

"Whatever," James said knowing that there was no point in continuing to trade insults since they had both long since grown immune to them, and it was now just a game they played. "I'm going to go wait outside."

"You need help with your bag," Luanne asked, looking up again.

"No I got it," James said, trying to smile. "I'm not bringing that much."

"Have fun then."

"Thanks," James said, picking up his suitcase.

"Tell Aaron I said good luck."

"I will," James said. "He should be here in just a minute or two."

"Okay," Luanne said, smiling at James. "Bye."

Luanne watched James open the door and leave, carrying his suitcase in one hand and the bag that contained his new suit in the other. Sighing, she turned and put her feet up on the couch, stretching out the length of it as she returned her attention to the tabloid she'd been reading. She was glad that James was gone. Lately, all he did was get on her nerves, rolling his eyes every time she lit a cigarette, carping at her if she had more than a couple of beers, or didn't feel like making dinner. Sure she hadn't had a fancy education, and she'd never heard of half the things James talked about, but she wasn't stupid. And it wasn't as if she hadn't done good by him - good enough. And it wasn't as if she'd ever given a damn that her son was queer, and a bit of a sissy on top of it. She never wanted grandkids anyway. And sure he had his famous friend, and hung out with people she read about in her tabloids and gossip magazines. But that didn't make him one bit better than her, or give him a right to all the time be talking down to her, like just because never went to college she was an idiot or something. Because she wasn't.

"Well?" Aaron said, unexpectedly amused by the shocked look on Colin's face.

"Well what?" Colin said, stammering.

"Are you going to tell me?"

"I sure ain't," Colin said.

"Jaysus," Aaron said, suddenly unable to keep from laughing. "You're acting way more shocked than me Dad when I asked him."

"Well shite - waddya expect?"

"It's not that complicated of a question," Aaron said.

"So maybe I should be asking you the same thing then?"

"That's an easy one to answer."

"Yeah, well you best be keeping it that way," Colin said, pointing at Aaron. "You don't wanna be knocking some young one up the duff, or getting a disease, or something thick like that"

"I'm not stupid," Aaron said, defensively.

"Maybe not. But your dick is plenty of stupid. Trust me."

"How come I thought you were going to be a bit more helping here?"

"Helping?" Colin said, holding his hands up. "Like how? Getting you laid?"

"Nooooo," Aaron said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms on his chest. "You know that's not what I mean."

"I most surely do not know," Colin said, jabbing the table with his finger again.

"I guess that also means you aren't planning on answering my question?"

"What? About when I had sex for the first time? You're feckin' right I ain't tellin' you that. One, it ain't none of your feckin' business. And two, I'd be offerin' ya a piss-poor example to follow if I did tell ya."

"That's what my Dad said," Aaron said, sighing.

"He did not," Colin said, his head snapping back like he'd been slapped. "Lance!"

"No - me other Dad, Josh."

"Ah - I see," Colin said, laughing. "I'm gonna have to ask him 'bout that."

"Let me know what you find out," Aaron said, laughing now too.

"Not likely," Collin said. "But good try."

"Yeah thanks," Aaron said, scrunching his face into an exaggerated smirk.

"Don't mention it."

"I bet you were like fourteen."

"I bet you better stop your guessing, that's what I bet."

"Younger, huh?" Aaron said, starting to laugh. "Wow."

"Aaron," Colin said, lowering his voice as he raised one eyebrow in warning.

"Okay - I'm just joking with you anyway."

"So, ha-fecking-ha," Colin said, smirking at him.

"Anyway - it's not big deal. I was just curious is all."

"And you ain't got no lack now do ya?"

"A lack?"

"A girlfriend," Colin said.

"No. And no boyfriend neither."

"So you really true were asking just to be asking?"

"Yeah," Aaron said. "I was just curious what you'd say. I pretty much talked the topic to death with my Dad already anyway."

"You've not gone and done it yet have you?"

"Nope."

"Good," Colin said, slapping the table. "Keep it that way."

"That's all you have to say?"

"There ain't nothing more to tell ya."

"My Dad seemed to think that it was a bit more complicated than that."

"There ain't a feckin' thing complicated 'bout keepin' your dick in yer cacks or otherwise having my foot up yer arse, which is where it'll be if you don't mind what I be tellin' ya - you hear me?"

"Jaysus," Aaron said, laughing hard. "I guess that settles it then."

"You're bloody right it does."

Pushing the door open to Aaron's room, Lance stuck his head inside and frowned. Aaron was sitting in a chair wearing only gray trunk-style boxer-briefs, his ankles crossed beneath the chair, and his knees spread open. The stylist cutting Aaron's hair was plainly enjoying the view, looking down over his shoulder at his crotch. Lance cleared his throat and gave the stylist a quick warning glare when he looked up. Aaron was oblivious with his eyes closed and ear-bud headphones in, listening to his digital-audio player. Walking over to Aaron, Lance nudged his knee to get his attention.

"Hey Dad," Aaron said, tugging his headphones out. "Waddup?"

"How about putting some shorts on, huh?"

"Dad," Aaron said. "It's not like I'm sitting here naked or something."

"Pretty near," Lance said, watching the stylist out of the corner of his eye, well aware that he was smirking.

"The young man said that he preferred his hair cut this way, Mr. Bass."

"You just about done?" Lance said, acknowledging the stylist.

"Just now," the stylist said, brushing hair from Aaron's bare shoulder with a towel and then his hands. "Looks nice, yes?"

"Very," Lance said, managing a polite smile. "Thank you."

"I have left the pomade for you in your bathroom," the stylist said, coming around to the front of the chair and looking at Aaron. "I can come back in an hour to assist you, if you wish. I will be done with Monsieur Rideau by then."

"No thanks chief," Aaron said, standing up and winking at him. "I can do it. I'm all about my hair."

"Are you certain?" the stylist said, stealing one final glance at Aaron's crotch. "Because I am more than happy to return.

"Here," Lance said, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head as he handed Aaron a pair of red Umbro soccer shorts. "Put these on."

"Dad - be mellow," Aaron said, taking the shorts from Lance's hand and draping them across the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. "I'm going to take a shower like in two minutes anyway."

"Fine," Lance said, rolling his eyes again. "I'm going to go get dressed and meet Colin downstairs for a drink."

"That's cool," Aaron said. "Me and James will meet you there."

"At four-thirty and..."

"Dad, I know," Aaron said, giving Lance a wide-eyed will-you-stop-nagging-me look. "I won't be late."

"You need any help with that?" Lance asked, seeing that the stylist was now near the door, a heavy satchel in each hand.

"If you could get the door please?"

"Sure thing," Lance said, walking quickly to over and opening it.

"Thank you Mr. Bass."

"Don't mention it," Lance said, forcing himself to smile despite his increasingly bad mood. "Have a nice evening."

Lance closed the door and leaned against it, taking several breaths before turning around. He felt unusually stressed and sensed the beginnings of a headache. He was also angry that Aaron had been so utterly oblivious to Gary's leering at him, not that Gary was entirely to blame given the nearly-naked six-foot tall handsome athletic teenager sitting in front of him. It was as if Aaron refused to recognize he could be the object of someone's lust. Or maybe, Lance thought, he just doesn't care?

When Lance turned around, Aaron was on his way to the bathroom, deftly sliding his boxer-briefs down his legs as he walked, stepping out of them at the exact moment he reached the bathroom door, leaving them sitting on the floor. Lance shook his head and laughed, feeling simultaneously shocked, amused, puzzled, amazed, frustrated, envious flustered, and angry at the unashamed ease of Aaron's relationship with his body, and the resulting lack of modesty. He didn't know whether it was confidence, innocence, or a dangerous naiveté. But whatever it was, Lance knew he did not understand it.

"I'll see you downstairs," Lance said, yelling so Aaron would hear him.

"Okay," Aaron said, stepping back into the doorway, grinning excitedly, his face half-covered with shaving cream. "I'm starting to get kind of nervous. And excited."

"Me too," Lance said, glancing briefly at his feet, and then smiling back at Aaron. "Now you get ready and I'll see you downstairs."

"Okay Dad. Later-gator."

Aaron disappeared back into the bathroom, leaving Lance standing there, smiling still. The sound of running water could soon be heard from inside the bathroom, and over it the sound of Aaron singing wildly off-key. Hearing Aaron sing made Lance laugh out loud and think, At least he's not good at everything. So there's that.

"So what's the feckin' the deal with Aaron all askin' 'bout sex lately?" Colin said, taking a slow sip of whiskey.

"Oh lord," Lance laughed. "What did he ask?"

"He was wanting to know when I had sex for the first time and what it was like. I right near pissed me-self."

"Did you tell him?"

"Feck no!"

"Apparently Josh got that question too."

"It was right uncomfortable," Colin said, tilting his glass at Lance and looking at him over the top of it, his eyebrows as always comically arched. "I'll tell you that."

"Trying explaining to a thirteen year old how two men can have sex."

"No shite?"

"That's the bad thing about sex-ed in school," Lance said, laughing. "He gets the straight version there and then comes home and wants to know how his dads do it."

"That's too feckin' funny," Colin said, plunking his glass down hard on the table and laughing so loud that several people turned around and stared. "Knowing A-bomb he probably wanted diagrams too."

"I thought I was going to die of embarrassment."

"What'd you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him."

"Go ask your father!" Colin said, laughing loudly again.

"Exactly!" Lance said. "But oh man did I get it from Josh that night."

"I expect that be feckin' true."

"You know - sometimes I just lie to him, which is something I promised I'd never do. But when you got a kid who will ask you just about anything..."

"And does."

"And does - well, sometime you just have to figure, he can learn this one on his own. You know, not the crucial stuff, like safe sex, and well - you know. But explaining how a blow-job works? Uh-uh, no way. He can figure that one out on his own."

"As I expect he will," Colin said, winking. "On one end of it or the other."

"That's right."

"Do you worry whether he's straight or queer?"

"I used to," Lance said. "Now I worry that he's too fucking good-looking."

"He's a head-turner, that's for bloody sure."

"And he's absolutely oblivious to it," Lance said, taking a short sip of whiskey. "It's weird, and I can't really explain it."

"See - that's part of it though. Most people with half his looks got there eye on the feckin' mirror all the time so they might as well be the only feckin' person in the room. Aaron ain't like that, and it shows in how he handles himself."

"No - you're right," Lance said, nodding.

"So when'd you realize you were good-looking."

"Never."

"Come on."

"I don't know," Lance said, thinking about it. "When I met Josh, I guess."

"That's a romantic notion."

"It's true though."

"Well, right on then," Colin said, leaning across the table and giving Lance's arm a soft slap. "Josh is a lucky man."

"How about you?" Lance said. "When did you realize you were the fabulously sexy creature you are?"

"Are you flirting with me?" Colin said, pretending to recoil in shock, and then slapping the table and laughing.

"No," Colin continued. "I discovered the power of my smile way too soon," Colin laughed. "Let me tell you that. Way too soon."

"Like?"

"Like twelve."

"No!"

"Yup - and for years there was no looking back. Oh man, I was a horny bastard."

"I wasn't like that."

"What?" Colin said, scrunching his forehead and widening his eyes. "No way."

"No, seriously," Lance said. "I mean, it wasn't like I didn't think of sex."

"So parts of you were normal then."

"You could say that."

"And so now you'll be tellin' me Joshua was your first."

"He was."

"Jaysus - I've become pals with a feckin' saint!"

"No - no saint," Lance said, staring grimly at his drink and taking a sip of it.

"Well, anyway you be puttin' it, you've done a right fine job with A-bomb."

"Thanks," Lance said, looking up at Colin and smiling.

"And I don't think you should be worrying yourself too much about him gettin' in a bad way with no one. He's got pretty good instincts, that one does."

"No, I think you're right. But I still worry."

"D'ya think Aaron be looking to hook-up with someone specific?"

"I don't think so," Lance said, pausing first to consider Colin's question. "I think mostly he's just trying to get his bearings. He's pretty cautious, and not rash. So I'm not too worried about getting a call one day from the father of some girl's he's knocked up."

"Like my Dad got."

"No freakin' way," Lance said, this time being the one to laugh too loudly and put his glass down with a noisy thud. "For real?"

"Oh, yeah," Collin said, nodding and laughing. "And me arse still hurts from the thumping the aul fella put on me for that one."

"Did she like, you know..."

"Nah, false alarm," Colin said, smiling wistfully.

"I bet you were glad about that."

"Oh sure," Colin said, staring at the table, then looking up at Lance, his eyes wet and squinted. "And I was always a way bit more careful after that."

"I think you should get married again."

"Now where'd that feckin' come from?"

"I don't know," Lance said, giving Colin a knowing look. "Where do you think?"

"No more marriage for me," Colin said, pressing his lips together and nodding. "I be out of that business for good."

"That doesn't mean you have to be alone," Lance said.

"Hey - I ain't alone," Colin said, wagging his head back and forth, and raising his glass. "I got you, don't I?"

"Yeah - but don't tell Josh," Lance said, raising his glass, and clicking it against Colin's. "You know how jealous he gets."

"It'll be our dirty little secret then," Colin said, leaning forward across the table and whispering. "Just yours and mine."

"You want another?" Lance said, nodding toward Colin's empty glass.

"Hell yeah," Colin said. "We've got a feckin' long night ahead of us and I sure as hell don't intend to get through it sober."

"So there you have it," Lance said, standing up and heading toward the bar.

"A double on the double!" Colin shouted, making everyone turn and stare again. "That's be me motto tonight."

"Why do you always put your pants on last?"

"I don't," Aaron said, glancing back at James from where he stood in front of the mirror. "I put my shoes on last."

"No - I meant of your clothes."

"I don't really like pants," Aaron said, turning around and shrugging. "They feel funny - like too tight and stuff."

"Maybe because your ass is so big."

"No it's not," Aaron said, looking back over his shoulder at the mirror.

"Made you look though," James said, laughing.

"You're looking wicked-smart in that suit," Aaron said, turning his attention back to James. "It's very cool on you."

"You think?"

"Totally," Aaron said, bouncing on one foot, and then the other, like a boxer. "And I like how your hair is all shiny."

"That stylist dude put some stuff in it for me," James said, standing up from where he'd been sitting on the end of the bed. "When he was done with Stephane's hair."

"Did he play with your neck?" Aaron asked, rubbing his hands up the back of his neck and then pulling them down across his shoulders. "Like this?"

"Totally," James said. "And he was all like, Duz thees massage not feel so good yes to relax you meester James?"

"He definitely had himself some wandering fingers, that's for sure."

"He was pretty nice though."

"Yeah," Aaron said. "He was okay. Freaked my Dad out."

"Like how?"

"It was funny," Aaron said, laughing. "I was zoning listening to tunes while Gary snipped the locks, and I think my Dad like saw him checking out my action and he got all like, Aaron put some shorts on."

"What were you wearing?"

"Boxer briefs."

"Not the grey ones."

"Well - yeah. So."

"The trunks?"

"Yes," Aaron said, pressing his lips together, and wrinkling his brow.

"Dude," James said, grinning at Aaron. "You so almost fall out of those ones."

"I so don't," Aaron said.

"You're so from-another-planet sometimes."

"Dude - it's my junk. I'll let it wag in the wind if I want to."

"You got me there," James said, laughing. "So when are we meeting your Dad?"

"In like ten," Aaron said, eyeing his tuxedo pants, which were draped on the back of a chair. "He's down in the bar with Colin, and maybe Eric. I'm not sure."

"Hey, we should have a drink too," James said, grinning and arching his eyebrows several times. "Here's the key to the mini-bar."

"There's like two cases of champagne in my Dad's room," Aaron said. "They've been sending it up all day, along with flowers and fruit baskets and bunch of other stuff. I have no idea what we're going to do with it all."

"Well let's have some," James said, trying the door that connected their suite to Lance's even larger one. "Your Dad won't mind. He's let us have it before."

"That's cool," Aaron said, shrugging as he watched James disappear into the other room and then, after a minute, return with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"Ta-duh," James said, holding the bottle aloft and waving the glasses.

Aaron watched as James peeled the foil off the top of the bottle and then removed the wire that encased the cork and held it in. Tossing the foil and wire into the trashcan, James turned his attention to the cork, which popped out of the bottle without him having to put hardly any pressure on it. The cork shot across the room and hit a lampshade before it fell to the floor. James and Aaron laughed as the lampshade wobbled back and forth and a dollop of foamy champagne overflowed the bottle and down its side.

"Here," Aaron said, tossing James a hand towel.

"Cool," James said, wiping his hand on the towel, and then wrapping it around the neck of the bottle. "Thanks."

"You didn't get any on you, did you?"

"On my new designer threads?" James said, smiling. "No way."

"To your new threads," Aaron said, raising his glass. "And to you."

"To me?" James said, surprised.

"Yeah - to you."

"How about to us?" James said, blushing as he held his glass up.

"To us," Aaron said, clicking James' glass with his own.

"So where's your tie?" Lance said, standing up from where he'd been sitting with Colin. "You've got to wear the tie big guy."

"It chokes me," Aaron said, frowning. "And James isn't wearing one."

"Hey James," Colin said, standing up and pointing at the unbuttoned open collar of Aaron's shirt. "You think Aaron should be wearing his tie or what?"

"All right, all right, all right," Aaron said, rolling his eyes. "No need for a feckin' vote. I'll wear the damn thing already."

"Um, Aaron," Lance said, scowling. "Language?"

"Sorry," Aaron said, blushing as he pulled his bowtie from his pocket and handed it to Lance. "Sorry Dad."

"It's okay," Lance said, smiling as he took the tie from him. "You can put it on in the limousine."

"That ought to reduce the torture by a few minutes," Colin said, letting his tongue fall from the side of his mouth as he rolled his eyes back into his head and pretended to be suddenly hung by a noose. "Don't you think A-bomb?"

"So who's playin' the caffler now?" Aaron said, pointing at Colin and smirking.

"Well, let's get going," Lance said, picking his jacket up from where he'd hung it over the back of his chair. "We don't want to keep the mortals waiting."

Before leaving with Aaron, Lance had rolled the television from the living room, down the hall, and into their bedroom for JC to watch. He had set it up near the foot of the bed, careful to put duct tape over the long extension cord to which the television was plugged in. He didn't want JC tripping over it in the middle of the night on his way to the bathroom. Ten bottles of water crowded the bed stand table, behind the Advil, a big box of Kleenex, and the television remote control. JC was wearing a pair of Aaron's old sweatpants, a long-sleeve t-shirt, a hooded-fleece pullover, and thick wool socks. Despite the warm clothes, and two extra comforters, JC's teeth still chattered.

Laying there, his head propped up on three pillows, JC had a hard time seeing the television. His eyes were blurred from the near-constant thumping forehead pain of a bad headache. He had to blink repeatedly to keep the picture in focus. His lips were chapped, and it was hard to swallow. The muscles in his neck, legs, arms, back, and shoulders each pulsed with pain, like he'd been recently beaten and bruised. This was JC with the flu and he felt miserable.

The Academy Awards show had just started. Or was it the pre-awards show? JC couldn't really tell. Each year the show got longer, and he knew there was probably no way he'd be able to stay awake for the only thing. He only hoped that he might last until Aaron's category was awarded, then he could sleep.

JC tried to pay attention to the television, looking for a glimpse of Lance or Aaron or Colin - anyone he might recognize and thus allow him to gain his bearings on what it was exactly he was watching, and at what point in the show it was occurring. The walls in the room were dark and seemed to melt when he stared at them, staring when his eyes hurt from watching the glowing TV.

Lance had set the TV to record the show, checking it three times before leaving. If JC fell asleep, he could still watch it, maybe when he was feeling better. But he knew JC wanted to see it live, to know what was happening, when it happened. Shifting under the blankets, JC searched for a cool spot in the sheets on which to lie. He could feel his back sticky-moist with sweat. His tongue felt thick and furry and sore, and he doubted that he had the energy to stand up without collapsing.

Closing his eyes, JC exhaled slowly, trying not to cough because it made his head and chest hurt when he did. He felt nauseated, like he might throw up at any minute. Fighting back the wave of nausea that overtook him, JC was suddenly covered in sweat. He felt dizzy, the bed began slowly to spin - or it felt like it was - and a cramp in his leg made him yelp in pain. His eyes filled with tears of frustration and sadness. He hated being sick, and he hated being alone. He missed Lance.

The sound of the TV seemed now to recede, as if someone was wheeling it out of the room and down the hall and away. He felt almost relieved by the silence, the ebbing nausea, and the disappearing pain in his thigh. He coughed and a shudder passed through him. The blankets seemed heavy and warm. When he breathed through the sheet he had pulled across his mouth, he imagined smoke and soot coming out of it. He did not know why his clothes smelled like smoke still, but it made him really angry. The clothes he'd bought just a month ago for school, bought with the money from his paper route. But then the kitchen had caught fire, nearly burning down the house and filling it with smoke and a noxious smell that clung to everything including it seemed to him. His throat hurt. He hoped his mother would let him stay home, to please not make him go to school wearing smoky clothes, clothes that made the other children call him Smoky-Boy, Hey, Smoky-Boy, where's the fire, Smoky Boy!

His mother shook his arm hard. He could feel her short lacquered nails bite into the soft skin on the back of his arm, piercing it almost. He knew there'd be a mark, but not one anyone but him would know it was there. Ouch! You're hurting me. Yeah, I'll show you hurting you, you little brat. But owww, mama, don't, that hurts. Get up you little shit. I'm not driving you if you miss the bus. You'll just have to walk. Sick? Sick? You ain't sick! You're faking, like you're always faking and lying and being false, saying you didn't steal the money from my wallet like I know you did. And don't be saying Tyler took it because I know he damn well didn't. It was you you little shit. Now get up! Get up and get your scrawny no good ass ready!

JC sat up in bed gasping, his head swiveling from side to side. He kicked off the blankets covering and stood up without waiting to catch his breath or figure out where he was. His knees buckled as soon as weight was on them, and he fell with a loud clumsy thump to the floor, his ankle turning and feeling like something had broken in it.

"Oh fuck," he whimpered, tears stinging his eyes.

Bent over JC feared he was about to vomit, then he did. The heaves coming like a series of four body blows, hard hits to his stomach, a sticky bilious liquid pulsing from his mouth in loose spurts that filled his nose with an acrid stink that made him wince. It took five minutes for his heaving to stop, even though he'd only vomited twice. He could feel the sweat on his back grow cold, as he grew cold too, shivering there on the floor on his hands and knees. He felt hardly human and started to cry.

James had never seen anything like it. The premiere had been crazy enough, with way more people than he'd expected crowding outside the theater waiting to see the stars arrive. And the Golden Globes, while pretty crazy, was more a big party where all kinds of different stars got to schmooze and mingle, gossip and back-stab, and compete to be seen in the best light. James had felt slightly out of place at both events, like the mere mortal of Lance's joke. But he had still enjoyed himself, and his chance to watch the rites of celebrity played out before him, in person, rather than as pre-packaged for public consumption, like on the television, of in glossy magazines.

But this event, the Academy Awards, it was beyond James' ability to describe or comprehend. Having followed Aaron out of the limousine, he was plunged into the midst of a festival so huge and overwrought, so clamorously noisy, so filled with spectacle and light, that it seemed hardly possible that it was of this world, at least not the world with which James was in any way familiar, except as an observer.

Aaron had him by the arm the whole time, pulling him through the crowd when need be, guiding him forward toward the near-monumental entrance to the Kodak theater, which to James seemed to loom like the Rouen cathedral, inspiring in him the same kind of primitive obeisance. He could hear people screaming Aaron's name, trying to get his attention, to get him to look at them, to smile, or to pause for a moment so that the image of him standing there could be photographed, and thus captured and preserved, becoming a relic of the event, proof that it had in fact occurred, and that Aaron had been there.

James could see someone waving Aaron toward a different color circle of carpet near one edge of the procession they were in. Seeing it, Aaron smiled and guided them towards it, waving at a woman that James did not at first recognize but then did. She was the Dateline woman, the one that James thought was irritatingly all about herself. James stopped at the edge of the circle, but Aaron pulled him onto it, giving him a big wink and a smile first, and then standing right next to him.

"It's great to see you again Aaron," Gabriella said, deftly tossing her hair to one side in the way she always seemed to start an interview. "Looks like a few people showed up for your party after all, huh?"

"It's not my party," Aaron said. "But I'm sure happy to have been invited."

"As is everyone I'd guess," Gabriella said, looking past Aaron to see who her next interview was, and then returning her attention to him.

"So tell me," Gabriella continued. "Who's your friend? Don't tell me the guy named number three in the Teen People Hot 50 couldn't get a date for the Oscars."

Aaron's grin did not change at all, nor did the tilt of his head. But his eyes subtly narrowed as he looked at Gabriella. Standing on his tip-toes, Aaron leaned to one side and looked directly into the camera, by-passing Gabriella, who looked suddenly uncertain about what was going on. Aaron arched one eyebrow, raised the corner of his mouth, and slowly shook his head from side-to-side.

"Can you believe she just asked me that?" Aaron said, speaking directly into the camera, knowing it was live. "I mean, how rude is that?"

Laughing, Aaron looked at James and winked, and then looked back at Gabriella, who was visibly flushed.

"This is my best friend James," Aaron said, introducing him. "We grew up together in San Diego. We go to the same school, and James worked on the film with me. I asked him to come with because I wanted him to be here."

"Well there you have it," Gabriella said, giving her hair a second shake. "Straight from the source. It's nice to meet you James."

"It's nice to meet you too," James said, shaking her hand, smiling near-giddily.

"So, Aaron, I have to ask, and I hope that this is a safe question - the tuxedo, whose is it?"

"It's mine," Aaron said, laughing. "I don't think I have to give it back, do I?"

"Okay - you're killing me here," Gabriella said, smiling but not too sincerely. "I meant, the designer - who is he?"

"Oh!" Aaron said. "Marc Jacobs - who is a super nice guy. He did the suit I wore at the premiere, and I just really liked it, so we teamed up again. See, check this out."

Aaron unbuttoned the jacket to his tuxedo, which was a classic black cashmere-wool blend, tailored tight to his body, with three buttons, and notched black-satin lapels. Opening it, he revealed the lining, which was made of a shiny bright yellow material with a large number nine printed in blue. Looking at the lining, which he had seen before, and the look on Gabriella's face, James started to laugh.

"That's original," Gabriella stammered, not knowing what else to say.

"It's made from my lacrosse jersey," Aaron said, smiling proudly as he pointed at it. "Me and Marc thought it'd be cool if my jacket had something in it I liked wearing, you know, so I'd feel more comfortable. This my number on the team - nine."

"What can I say," Gabriella laughed. "It's cool."

"It is," Aaron said, grinning proudly.

"Well, Aaron - thanks for stopping to chat," Gabriella said, taking Aaron by the arm, about to escort him off the circle of carpet that was her interview station. "Good luck in there. I hope you win."

"Thanks Gabriella," Aaron said, re-buttoning his jacket. "Thanks a lot."

James followed Aaron out from in front of Gabriella to the next interview station. Each interview went quickly, and was nearly the same, except that no one else questioned why James was there, or paid much attention to his presence, focusing on Aaron instead. James didn't mind, viewing now the whole thing like a cultural anthropologist studying an exotic new tribe, or a civilization built around a cult of celebrity, and the veneration of the improbably beautiful. It was with a more than slightly jaded eye that James viewed it all, but it was also at the same time fascinating and amusing. He was genuinely happy that he had come. He was having a great time, and was flattered by the careful and sincere attention that Aaron was showing him. It was like they were on a date together, like Aaron was his date, or like a boyfriend. And while this seemed like a scary dangerous thought to James, he let himself think it nonetheless, thinking it and smiling as he crowded a little closer to Aaron, not wanting him to get too far away.

Toni did not realize that she was biting her lower lip until she heard her name read as one of the nominees for best actress in a supporting role. She had expected to hear it, and was ready, having heard her name read like this twice before. The first time she had let herself want to win, and even half-expected to. The second time she had not expected to win, but secretly wanted to, unable to curb her creeping hope. She had won neither time, and ended up not just disappointed, but angry at herself for caring. This time she truly didn't care whether she won, or not, and didn't expect to win in any case.

Smoothing the flounced skirt of her dress, which was black silk-crepe with silver-crystal beads sewn in one long downward spiral, Toni tilted her head slightly and smiled, knowing she was now being shown in close up. Smile and look shy and a little nervous, she said to herself. And don't forget to clap and look happy when one of the other bitches win. Toni nearly laughed at this last thought, having unexpectedly and too much amused herself. She was having a good time, as improbable as that seemed to her, and was happy that she'd let Stephane and Colin talk her into coming.

Feeling a hand touch her wrist, Toni glanced to her left. It was Aaron smiling at her. She could not help but smile back, with a genuine smile now. He inevitably had that effect on her, That silly sweet smile of his. All teeth, full soft lips, the cleft in his chin, the wide-round eyes, moist and heavy lashed - it all just worked, and wasn't goofy or childish in the least. Where does that come from?

"I hope you win," Aaron whispered.

And suddenly Toni was genuinely touched, gasping a little at the sincerity of what Aaron had just said. But her stomach tightened too as she realized that she wanted to win, wanting Aaron not to be disappointed for her, even though she knew she wouldn't be disappointed for herself.

"Thank you," Toni whispered back. "I won't - but thank you Aaron. Really."

Glancing at Stephane, who was sitting in on her right, and was watching her out of the corner of his eye, Toni took a deep breath and reminded herself not to bite her lip. At least I'm not fat, she thought, fake-smiling again. And my dress is fabulous.

Alfre Woodard looked up from the envelope she held, having just ripped it open. Toni bit her lower lip as Alfre leaned forward toward the microphone, her mouth nearly touching it. Please let me win, Toni thought.

"This year's choice for best actress in a supporting role is Toni Collette, for Star Wars, Episode 7: The Gathering Storm."

Aaron was the first to leap to his feet, followed by Stephane, and then Lance and James and Colin and Ang. Toni remained seated, biting her lower lip, both hands clasped tightly together in her lap, her mouth hanging open, and tears brimming from her eyes. The auditorium filled with clapping, long loud whistles, and cheers. Stephane reached down and took Toni's hand as Aaron also helped her up.

"Go," Stephane said, whispering in her ear and giving her a quick soft kiss on the cheek. "It is you who won. Go."

Grabbing Stephane's face between her hands, Toni kissed him noisily on the lips, and then spun around and kissed Aaron, and then Lance and Colin too. Her purse had fallen to the floor when she stood and, realizing it now, for a moment she was not sure what to do except point at it laughing. Aaron bent down and picked it up and then pointed at the stage, saying, "Go!"

The applause was just beginning to quiet by the time Toni reached the podium, out of breath as she clutched her award between her breasts. She could hardly breathe, and not immediately speak. Her face was flushed and she looked genuinely surprised.

"I'm not sure," Toni said, stopping to take another breath, her voice shaking and full of emotion. "I'm not sure why Ang thought I'd be the perfect actress to play the cheated-on wife of a gorgeous double-crossing traitor who ends up choking me to death so he can be with his boyfriend but - you know - I won't complain."

Toni looked at Ang who was smiling at her, his hands held flat to his chest, as if trying to calm his own breathing. He looked radiantly happy and it made Toni smile.

"So thank you Ang, thank you so much - not just asking me to take this part, but also for reminding me that my character was not a victim, and not a bitch. She was a woman in love with the wrong man which, I assure you, is not something that I can at all relate to. No I'm serious - really!"

"Anyway," Toni said, after renewed laughter quieted. "There are so many to say thank you to, and I'm sure I won't remember half of you, and I'll probably offend the rest - so please forgive me in advance as I stumble through this."

"Okay, here goes," Toni said, taking another breath before continuing. "There is, of course, first the Academy to thank. I really am grateful. I didn't expect to get this, because I'm not sure I deserve it any more than the other nominees, but - okay, all right - I'll take it!"

"To all of the other wonderful people who made this possible, a hundred thousand thanks to you. There's Ang, who I already thanked, I know, but so what, you deserve double-thanks. There's Colin Farrell, who I adore even though he mentioned, on more than one occasion, that Brendan Fehr was a much better kisser than me. And Lance Bass, a man I admire tremendously as an actor, but even more as a husband and father. Then there's Ryan Gosling - my dear sweet Ryan, I hope you stay well, and that you know you will always have a friend in me. Truly you will."

Toni paused and looked out across the gathered crowd. It was vast and thrilling and it hardly seemed real to her. It was like something one could imagine, but not make real. But there it was before her, and she could see it with her own eyes, eyes now full of tears, which she wiped away with a gently shaking hand. Looking once more at the row where she'd just been sitting, Toni smiled at Stephane, who had been already smiling at her, his hands clasped together under his chin.

"Stephane, Stephane, Stephane - my sweet partner-in-crime, Stephane. Je t'aime. I have so loved getting to know you and I am proud to call you my friend."

"Finally - yes, finally, so hold the damn music for a couple seconds more - there is Aaron. And I'll be blunt. What do you say about a young man as obnoxiously gifted as him? To his face I mean, so stop your evil snickering out there."

"Well," Toni said, laughing. "There's a lot that I could say, but most of it would just embarrass the kid, wouldn't it Aaron?"

Toni, who was already looking at Aaron, laughed when she saw him shrug, grin, and make a nervous face, and then wink at her, as if saying, Hey, let's keep it our secret. He's uncanny, Toni thought. It's like he knows that the shot appearing live on millions television sets around the world, at that very moment, was of him.

"Aaron - thank you for reminding me that, in acting, sometimes the hardest thing to do is to simply be yourself, which is something you seem to do extraordinarily well. I congratulate you on that, and for your nomination tonight. It was really well-deserved."

"Sooooo," Toni said, taking a final deep breath, and trying not to cry. "Thank you again to the Academy, to my fellow cast-mates, and to everyone - anywhere and everywhere - who helped me to give the performance for which I won tonight. I humbly accept this award on your behalf, and sincerely thank you for it."

JC woke up gasping, crying, his blankets now mostly kicked off as he'd thrashed beneath them. He was drenched in stinking stinging sweat. The sheet underneath him stuck to his skin making him feel wet and cold.

Rolling on to his side, JC reached for a bottle of water. His throat felt constricted raw sore. Sipping the water, he swirled it over his teeth and tongue, and then swallowed, cringing and moaning. He didn't know what time it was, and he could not seem to focus his eyes well enough to see the glowing red numerals of the clock that sat on Lance's dresser on the other side of the room. The only other light in the room came from the television, and from the light that Lance had left on for him in the bathroom.

Remembering that he'd vomited earlier, JC leaned off the side of the bed, looking at the floor. There was a small pile of towels there. He must have cleaned it up, or maybe just covered it up. He didn't remember. Maybe because he'd been having crazy dreams, dipping in and out of sleep not really sleep, but a half-awake dim hallucinatory thinking-through full imagining of wondering wandering restless specters perusing looking fleeing from finding not finding being not being of thought of mind of feeling of fear uproarious fearing fashioning from fear facts not fact truths not truth lies not lies secret not secrets the mystery of imagining the not have been of what had been being true to what to be or not be has always been what is not that not that not that - no.

Rubbing his eyes, JC looked around. He felt as if he had been about to fall asleep, or was asleep. He raised himself up slowly off the bed, and slowly swung his legs to the floor, taking a deep slow breath when his feet finally touched. He needed to pee, and to know he could stand up without falling. Bracing his right hand on the bed-stand table and his other hand on the bed, JC stood up, wincing from the sharp pain he felt in his hip and back and knees. Tottering forward, careful not to step on the towels on the floor, and not wanting to fall again, JC made his way slowly to the bathroom.

First facing the toilet, but then sliding his sweat pants and boxer briefs down his legs, he turned and sat down, leaning the side of his head against the cool stone counter to his left. His walk twenty-five feet to the bathroom had seemed uncommonly tiring. JC felt fatigue gnawing at him. All he wanted to do was sleep, but really sleep, not dream or see weird things or wander wondering through the what-ifs and what-would-have-been that seemed to be plaguing his thoughts. It was awful and unlike him. He never thought this way. It was the fever.

"Fuck," JC mumbled bitterly, standing up, flushing the toilet, and then pulling his boxer-briefs and sweatpants back up. "I hate being sick."

JC made his way back to the bed, looking first at the clock on Lance's dresser. It was a quarter to eight. It'll be another hour, JC thought, glancing at the television and seeing a car commercial, a close-up of a handsome man driving down a mountain road, mastering its tortuous path, brightly-colored leaves scattered by the car's wake. About to sit down, JC remembered the sheets, and how drenched-wet they were. Reaching over and pulling them off, JC grimaced at their slimy feel. He quickly added the sheets to the pile of towels on the floor and then retrieved clean sheets from the bathroom closet. Not bothering to make the bed, JC laid a flat sheet across the mattress, then crawled on top it, pulling a second sheet over him. He left the blankets bunched at the foot of the bed, not feeling so cold anymore. He hoped that this meant his fever was gone now, or nearly so.

Closing his eyes, JC lay back down, this time on Lance's side of the bed, knowing that the pillow there would be cooler, and not sweaty. He also knew that it would smell like Lance, faintly, but strong enough for him to notice, feel reassured, and less alone.

The show was beginning again. JC could hear the swell of the theme music and the applause. JC thought it'd probably be an hour until the award for supporting actor was announced, but he listened carefully in case he was wrong. He didn't want to miss it, but didn't want to stare at the television until he had to either; it was easier to lie there, listen, and rest. That way his head did not pound so much, and his eyes did not ache. He could listen, lay quiet and listen, not sleeping, afraid to make a sound that would signal that he was still awake, wanting him to leave, knowing that it was better when he was gone, that then there would be no fighting, no screaming, no crying, no thrown dishes, no swearing cursing attacks where each one tried harder than the other to hurt accuse and embarrass and blame, You miserable stupid fucking good-for-nothing prick, You waste of flesh and blood, You grisly cheating drunk whore, on and on it would go until he would finally leave, disappearing on yet another bender that was his escape from having to hear her shrills screams and mad complaining about how he had ruined her life.

The sheets felt rough on his skin but his hands felt good on him, rubbing first the length of his leg, up inside his thigh, grasping his balls with a rough caress, giving them a gentle tug. It felt good even though he knew it shouldn't, willed it wouldn't, wanting it to be over, but to not be over either, to last a little longer, to Yes you can fuck me, I said you could, but kiss no kiss no kissing, all what yeah hurry up, faster is good, go on, yeah, like that, go on, like that, go on, like that, oh what yeah what you've got good at this, good good good what yeah practice huh, yeah, practice, and what, yeah a bottom makes you a better top, that's funny, true yeah true, okay, yeah, put my leg up like that, right, right, lean into it, lean into it like that that yeah, into it and yeah oh yeah you're hitting it hit hitting it hitting it now, really hitting it, what yeah what yeah, come on, come on, hit it hit it hit it hit we're fucking now we're fucking now, no no kissing we're fucking having sex, sex, stop stop, oh fuck, the feel of the touching that should not be, could not be, but was, listen to his breath, it's heat its speaking in his ear, panting, hearing its hot gasp, hit it hit it hit it, yeah what okay, pull out pull out pull out pull out I'm coming don't come in me pull out now pull out now now now listen listen listen listen Listen, dad, it's not that loud, I'll turn it down, please, it's my music, I made it I myself and, it doesn't hurt anyone, stop it, you're hurting me, I said I'd turn it down, not off, it's my voice, listen to me, I want to sing, be a singer, to sing, now matter what you say, I hate you for not listening, listening to the music, listening for what you're hearing now, listening and paying attention to it enough to hear the music, yes it is, the music, the music you were waiting for, and listening for, the swelling orchestral music, and the applause, laughing, and clapping, what you've been listening for, a voice saying loud, like right in your ear, a voice saying - This year's selection for best actor in a supporting role is Ryan Gosling for Star Wars, Episode 7: A Gathering Storm.

And he screamed - No, you can't have won. Aaron should win. Not you. Not you.

Sitting up and fumbling for the remote control, panic constricting his throat more than congestion or pain or illness, JC was shaking his head and trying to force open his eyes. I need to see. I need to see. I can't be blind. But he was blind, his eyelids stuck together so he couldn't see a thing. Everything was dark and swirling, and all he could hear was breathing, frantic breathing, his own breath, maybe yes, the sound of breathing, it would not go away. And then the feel of two hands pulling back at him, pulling him back down onto the bed, wanting more of him. Was that it? But he had to leave, and run to get out of the rain. It was freezing cold. Let me go, let me go, Ryan let me go. But he would not let him go. He would not leave him alone. He was getting drenched. The sound of panting, the sound of the rain, the sound of his struggle. He was so thirsty. So thirsty. His ears hurt from all the sounds. The sound was blaring too loud from the television. But how could he hear it outside in the rain? It hurt to hear. Screaming - Turn it off! Turn it off! Let me go. I have to go. I'll be late!

He remembered running down the hotel corridor, his pants in his hand, because he had to get away, get away and home so he could shower the smell of him off his skin, to scrub it until it was clean again. Shut up. Let me go. But he couldn't turn the sound off in his head, the sound of him breathing, the sound he made when was shooting himself inside him. Oh god, oh god, oh god, the remote control wasn't working, and he could not open his eyes, and the sound of hot hot breathing would not leave him, and those hands would not let go of him, and it was raining and he was cold and he wanted to throw the remote control at the television and hear it hit and break apart and shatter like he felt like shattering. But he couldn't. Shut up! Ryan, shut up! Why won't you leave me alone?

James had not brought the pajama bottoms he usually slept in so Aaron had given him his lacrosse shorts to wear, handing them through the nearly-shut bathroom door to him after his shower. He still felt giddy-drunk from the champagne he'd drank all night, three glasses of his own, and innumerable sips from Stephane's glass, and anyone else who was willing to share. It was five past two in the morning and he and Aaron had been back at the hotel only fifteen or twenty minutes. Once there, James had said he wanted to shower, in part to clear his head, but also because he wanted to be the first undressed and ready for bed. Aaron had agreed, flopping backwards onto the bed with an exaggerated backwards dive that caused the bedside tables to rock and the lamps on them to wobble.

Opening the bathroom door, James reentered the room and saw that Aaron was at the window, looking out. Aaron smiled seeing James appear behind him, reflected in the window. He watched James pull his t-shirt over his head and then look up and notice that he was staring at him in the window's reflection. Smiling, James blushed and waved. He felt suddenly shy, like you would being seen naked by a stranger. But James was not naked, and Aaron was not a stranger, leaving James to wonder why he felt the way he did. Maybe it was the evening's excitement coming now to ebb, like the peaceful exhaustion that sets in after having run a long way and then come to a rest. He could not remember ever having so much fun before, and he knew he would never forget this night.

Turning around, Aaron smiled as he walked toward James, holding hands out to him, palms down. He had taken his tie and pants and shoes and socks off and was now wearing only his boxer-briefs, and his tuxedo shirt with the top button undone. James felt himself blush, and his heart started to beat fast. He held his hands out to Aaron, thinking that he wanted to hold them.

"Can you do my cuff-links?" Aaron said, giving his shoulders a small shrug, and arching his eyebrows in an apologetic I-know-I'm-being-helpless kind of way. "I can't get them unhooked."

"Sure thing," James said, taking a deep breath and stepping forward.

James was now standing in front of Aaron, his eyes just at chest-level on him. He was five foot five, and Aaron was just over six feet tall. Smiling shyly, James glanced up at Aaron and then took hold of one shirt cuff. He made quick work of the first cuff-link, and then the other one, carefully putting each one back into the velvet-lined box in which they'd been delivered by a guy with two armed guards. They were on loan from a fancy-schmancy jewelry store that loaned expensive jewelry to celebrities to wear at big events like the Academy Awards. Both James and Aaron had thought it weird.

"Do you need help with the shirt-studs too?"

"Yeah," Aaron said, giving James that look again. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind," James said. "It's easier to do stuff like this with smaller fingers."

"Thank you."

"Sure."

The studs were platinum, each one a perfect flat glinting square. James could see himself reflected in each one, like eight tiny shiny snapshots. Grabbing the lowest one first, James carefully removed it and then set it on the table next to the cuff-links box. As he worked his way up, Aaron's shirt fell slowly further open, revealing first the front and then the waist-band of Aaron's boxer-brief. Aaron was wearing a white v-neck t-shirt that stopped just short of the waistband on his boxer-briefs revealing a thin sliver of skin.

Aaron watched James nimbly remove each stud from his shirt. He could tell that James was paying close attention to what he was doing because the muscles in his neck were tense. The last stud was the hardest to remove because the buttonhole there was smaller and James strained to get it out. When he finally had it safely out, James looked up and saw that Aaron was looking at him. It was thus their gazes met. James smiled at first, but then his face seemed slowly to relax into an expression that Aaron thought was both beautiful and apt. James looked so happy, and so at ease, it made Aaron happy and want to hug him.

James kissed Aaron before he knew that it was even happening. He laid his hands flat on Aaron's chest and stood on his tip-toes and kissed him, pressing his lips softly on his mouth, which was warm and tasted faintly of coconut. The kiss did not last long, not too long. But it was a kiss, and Aaron knew it. He felt stunned, but did not show it.

Aaron's eyes had not closed at first, and so he'd watched James continue the kiss, gently, not forcing it, his mouth closed, but barely. He'd felt his breath in his mouth, and even tasted toothpaste. That was when Aaron had shut his eyes. He felt suddenly dizzy, as if not sure of where he was, or what he was doing there. He had raised his hand and set it softly on James shoulder, not pulling him closer, and not pushing him away. It just rested there, as if waiting for something - like maybe for the kiss to be over. Aaron did not know, and he was not sure how he might have known.

James did not know how long the kiss had lasted, or how it had occurred. It was not instinctive, impulsive, or planned. It was as if it had come about - at least as far as he could tell - by force of its own nature. It was as if he had not been the one to cause this kiss to come into being but had been merely its vehicle, the person with and through and by whom the kiss was revealed and made manifest, like in an epiphany. Perhaps that was why he felt so sad when the kiss was over. Something rare or sacred or secret had come into being, shown itself, been glimpsed. But then it disappeared again, taking with it the secret of its own origin, like a dream remembered for a brief moment after waking up, but then lost except for the traces left of how dreaming it had made you feel. James felt stunned by what had happened, but fought to not show it, except for the glint of tears in his eyes, tears that Aaron noticed and somehow thought he understood.

"Are you in love with me James?" Aaron asked, his hand still on his shoulder, his gaze so intent that it made James want to close his eyes. "Is that what this is?"

James stared at Aaron, unable to talk because he was afraid that he'd start crying if he did. He had been struck silent by Aaron's question, and stood there unable to answer it, unable to speak the words he wanted to, unable look him in the eyes and say, You are like every hope I ever had that the world could be a welcome place for me, that there was a place where I belonged, where I was not a stranger, and not a freak, and not alone, a world not of fake feigned or fabricated romance, not a world of myth and make-believe, but a world where love was real, where promises were kept, not broken, and where there could be a man who believed in me, who wanted me and needed me, a world where at the end of day I was not alone, not afraid, not ashamed, not full of anger, not full of loathing, a world where there was respect and care, and passion too. So yes I love you, yes I'm in love with you, yes I meant that kiss and everything in it, yes, yes, yes.

"No," James said, near tears, his voice wavering. "I'm sorry. It was just...it was just all the excitement. You know, and like all the champagne, which I'm so not used to, so much of it, and I ... I...uh, I don't know, I just wanted to really thank you, you know, for everything, because tonight...it was such a super huge thing for me, and like so totally really special and, I...I...I don't know, it's just I'll never be able to thank you enough and just wanted to thank you, and you know, it was stupid and...."

"James - stop it," Aaron said, squeezing his shoulder. "It's okay."

"What is?"

"You kissed me. It's okay."

"I know but..."

"James - stop it. Really."

"Yeah, okay," James said, staring at the carpet now, wishing he could somehow disappear. "I'm stopping now."

"Come here," Aaron said, taking James by the hand and leading him to one of the two king-sized beds in the room. "Let's sit down a second."

"I'm tired," James said, sitting next to Aaron. "I just want to sleep. I don't want to talk. I don't want to make this into a big deal. This night was super perfect and I don't want to ruin it - I didn't, did I?"

"No you didn't," Aaron said, draping his arm around James' shoulder.

"I am sorry though," James said, looking across the room at their reflection in the window, and then bowing his head.

"For what?"

"I don't know," James said.

"Did you really have a great time?" Aaron said. "For real?"

"Totally for real," James said, looking up at Aaron, his eyes sparkling and eager. "I don't even know what to say. It's like I can't even describe it - everything that went on, all the things you said, being there - it was just, I don't know - it was perfect."

"I'm glad you were with me," Aaron said. "It made what happened mean so much more to me."

"Thank you for being so nice to me," James said, softly crying. "You're always so nice to me and I don't even know why."

"Hey - don't cry."

"I can't help it," James murmured. "I'm sorry.

"It makes me think you're sad. And please stop apologizing. Really."

"I'm not sad," James said, sniffing loudly as he wiped his nose across the back of his right hand. "I'm not. I just feel all emotional. It's because I'm happy I think."

"Okay," Aaron said, nodding and sighing quietly. "How about us getting some sleep then?"

"That sounds kind of good," James said, sniffing again and wiping his eyes with the front of his t-shirt. "Actually."

"You want to sleep with me?" Aaron asked, standing up as James did too. "Like we always used to."

"Like we used to?"

"We always did before."

"When we were kids."

"Yeah - when we were kids."

James stayed silent for several seconds unsure what to say or do. He knew that if he thought about Aaron's offer for more than a few seconds he'd have it tied up in a complex knot that he'd never get untied again. Why couldn't they sleep together, James wondered. Had they really changed so much? Yes, probably so.

Shaking his head, stopping his thoughts from going further, James looked up and smiled at Aaron once more. He had a worried look on his face, one that disappeared as soon as he saw James smiling.

"Only if you promise not to take advantage of me," James said, cracking a smile, and poking Aaron in the ribs. "I know all about guys like you hot-shot movie-star types."

"Oh yeah?" Aaron said, arching his eyebrows twice, and then laughing.

"Yeah."

"Well I'm not making any promises," Aaron said. "So I guess you'll have to take your chances trusting me."

"I don't know," James said, scratching his head and pretending to be worried.

"It's your choice," Aaron said, shrugging off his shirt and scrambling into bed and under the covers, laughing. "You know where to find me."

"Yeah I do," James said, a little sadly, and then jumped into bed.

When JC felt himself slowly wake, and look around, he immediately suspected it was a dream. The sheets that covered him felt cool and fresh and clean. He was not drenched with sweat and didn't stink. His head still hurt, but not as bad as before. He was neither too hot, nor too cold, and no longer felt feverish. He was wearing a clean t-shirt he knew was not his, and flannel pajama bottoms. The television was gone and so were the dirty sheets and towels that had been piled on the floor between the bathroom and the bed. There were fresh flowers on the dresser, and a newspaper beside him on the bed.

Sitting up, JC brushed the hair from his eyes with the back of his hand. He did not feel asleep but he did not trust the feeling either. Maybe I should get up, he thought. And look around. Maybe then I'll know. But before JC had a chance to pull back the sheets and blanket that covered him, the door swung slowly open and Lance was standing there.

"Hey there baby," Lance said, moving quickly to the side of the bed and giving JC a kiss on the cheek. "How you doing?"

"Are you really here?" JC asked, a scared and puzzled look on his face.

"Yes," Lance said, kissing JC again, this time on the lips. "Doesn't this feel real?"

"Uh-huh," JC said, slipping his arms around the back of Lance's neck and pulling him down onto the bed as he continued to kiss him for a few moment longer, convinced at last that he was really awake, and not just dreaming. "When did you get back?"

"This morning - just after four."

"You didn't stay at the hotel?"

"No," Lance said. "I had to get back. I was worried about you."

"I seem to have survived," JC said. "What time is it?"

"Three o'clock."

"In the afternoon?"

"Yeah - you been sleeping all day, good hard sleep."

"I feel a whole lot better."

"You're fever broke this morning about nine," Lance said. "Just in time. I was about to take you to the hospital. You had me pretty scared."

"What happened?"

"You had a fever Josh! And it was high!"

"I'm glad that's over with," JC said. "It was awful."

"Do you remember us taking a shower?"

"A what?"

"A shower," Lance said, smiling. "A cold shower. I about froze my balls off. But it seemed to do the trick, because your fever came down not long after that."

"I do kind of remember that," JC said. "I think."

"You were saying all sorts of crazy stuff. It was kind of funny actually."

"Like what?"

"For one, you kept calling me Ryan."

"No I didn't."

"Yeah you did," Lance said, nudging JC's leg and laughing. "And you were none too happy with me for holding onto you in the shower."

"Probably because it was so cold."

"Probably."

"But Ryan?" JC said, scowling. "That's kind of twisted."

"Yeah, maybe," Lance said. "But fevers can do that to you, twist everything up."

"Yeah, JC said, still scowling. "No - wait, I remember. He won. That's it. I remember now. I was trying to sleep, and having all these crazy-ass dreams. I was listening to hear who won on the television. I thought I'd fallen asleep, but then I woke up and I heard Ryan win, and not Aaron, and he was like giving this really stupid speech about how...anyway. I just remember being really pissed off at him that he won and not Aaron. It was totally weird too, because...."

"Josh - Ryan wasn't even nominated."

"What?"

"He wasn't nominated. He wasn't even there."

"He wasn't?"

"No."

"He's sick or something. That's what Toni said."

"And he didn't win?"

"No," Lance said, the worried look on his face replaced by a smile. "Aaron did."

"No way!" JC said, practically shouting. "Really? No - seriously? Really?"

"Yeah - he did."

"I can hardly believe it," JC said, clutching his hands to his chest, his eyes wide and staring at Lance.

"Look," Lance said, picking up the early morning edition of the Union Tribune that he had set next to JC on the bed. "He made the front page - above the fold."

The color photo was three columns wide and three inches tall. It showed Aaron holding his Academy Award up in the air just above his head. His eyes and smile seemed to shine brighter than the golden statuette, and reflect twice as much light.

"That is just so cool," JC said, staring at Lance now, having looked up from the newspaper, his mouth agape. "I still can't hardly believe it."

"Well believe it," Lance said, kissing JC's hand and then holding it. "Because he was great. Funny and kind and sincere. He...wait, this is dumb. You should watch it. We have it recorded. Come on."

Lance helped JC out of bed and down the hall to the couch that sat across from the television. JC sat next to Lance and waited for him to turn the television and digital video recorder on. The show was recorded in segments so that you could select which segment you wanted to watch by scrolling through a menu. When Lance found the right segment he pushed the play button and leaned back on the couch and took JC's hand. JC was bouncing up and down on the couch, just a little, but enough for Lance to notice it and smile. Listening to the presenter, an actress he did not immediately recognize, read the names of each nominee, JC pointed at the television when Aaron's name was read and a close-up of him appeared on the screen.

"Oh...my...god," JC said, glancing at Lance, who was smiling and watching him, and then looking back at the television. "Look how handsome he is. Lance...."

"He was looking pretty good," Lance said, nodding. "Now listen."

Tears fell from JC's eyes even before Aaron's name was read. And by the time he was shown at the podium, holding high his award, JC could hardly see the screen through his tears, or hear what Aaron was saying over the sound of his and Lance's gentle happy sobs. But years and years later, when he would think of this moment again, remembering how Aaron had won, and done so with such grace and charm, making everyone laugh by removing his jacket, and turning it inside out so that it looked like he was wearing his lacrosse team jersey, keeping a promise he'd made to his teammates if he won, JC would most clearly remember the simple beauty of Aaron's acceptance speech, and its closing lines when he had said ~

"Making this movie I often wondered how Lucas Skywalker, being just a boy, a boy like me, could save his father, and his world. When I wondered that, and when I got scared and thought that maybe it was impossible, I didn't say to myself, 'Well, Aaron, it's just a myth, just a made-up story and make-believe.' No - instead I'd think about something my dads taught me growing up, how they always told me, and like showed me every single day with their life together raising me, that there's nothing that you can't do if you believe in the power of love. That's what my dads taught me. And you know what? I believe them."