an interlude
Hey, folks, sorry for the delay, but that last chapter took it out of me. (By the way, thanks to the very few people who sent me emails about it. I really appreciated it, especially given how much work went into it.) Anyway, I had originally envisioned this section of Alone/Together as a four-part arc, i.e., one section for each of the four seasons. Well, I changed my mind a bit, and this chapter is going to be like a "breather" between the last and the next chapter (thus its title). It's a bit more of a fluff piece, but it's kind of nice (I think) and I hope you like it. If you want to let me know what you thought of it, you can write me at: denis141@hotmail.com. Hearing from you all really does mean a lot to me, so I hope that you write, especially if you've never written before. I always write back.
DEDICATION: This chapter is for Zack, because his email to me about the last chapter was much appreciated and really made me happy. Thanks Zack!
DISCLAIMER: I don't know any member of NSYNC, and this story purely a work of fiction. This story also contains male-male sex (albeit mostly implied), so, if that's not your thing, or if you aren't old enough to read such things, you should stop reading now.
CHAPTER 23: ANNUS MIRABILIS ~ Part Four: Of Autumn, an interlude.
SPONTANEOUS me, Nature, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with, The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder, The hill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash, The same, late in autumn-the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and light and dark green, The rich coverlid of the grass-animals and birds-the private untrimm'd bank-the primitive apples-the pebble-stones, Beautiful dripping fragments-the negligent list of one after another, as I happen to call them to me, or think of them, The real poems, (what we call poems being merely pictures,) The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me, This poem, drooping shy and unseen, that I always carry, and that all men carry, (Know, once for all, avow'd on purpose, wherever are men like me, are our lusty, lurking, masculine poems;) Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers, and the climbing sap, Arms and hands of love-lips of love-phallic thumb of love-breasts of love-bellies press'd and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love-life that is only life after love.
--Walt Whitman, Spontaneous Me, Leaves of Grass (1900).
One by one, Aaron picked up the leaves that had fallen from avocado tree and lay scattered across the yard. When he had picked up nine or ten of them, he ran to Lance and put them into the pile he was building over Lance's long legs. It was late in the afternoon, and warm, and the wind smelled of the ocean and of juniper and sage. Lance watched as Aaron ran from leaf to leaf, almost as if he thought each leaf might run away if he didn't get to it in time. Aaron laughed as he ran, and Lance smiled as he watched him, and tugged at the collar of his green t-shirt, loosening it, and itching a spider-bite on his neck. This was how a Sunday should be, Lance thought, smiling even more, and inhaling deeply as Aaron ran towards him, laughing at the green bouquet of leaves he held in his hands, and tossing them at Lance's feet, and laughing even more.
"Daddy," Aaron said, plopping down next to Lance and pressing his bare feet up against the side of Lance's chest. "Why are all the leaves falled down?"
Because it's autumn," Lance said. "The leaves fall off the trees in autumn."
"What's awe-dum?" Aaron asked, unsure of the word.
"Au-TUMN is a season," Lance said, pronouncing the words slowly. "There are four seasons - winter, spring, summer, and autumn. It's autumn now."
"Oh," Aaron said, picking up a leaf and waving it at Lance. "Is that why the leaves are all falled down."
"That's right," Lance said. "And then in the spring they'll grow back, and there will be new leaves."
"Okay," Aaron said, looking at the avocado tree and its nearly bare branches.
Lance stood up and brushed the leaves off of his legs. Aaron turned and looked up at Lance and stood up too.
"Are we going inside now?" Aaron asked, taking Lance's hand.
"Uh-huh," Lance said, beginning to walk toward the house. "Josh should be home soon and we need to get some dinner ready. How does that sound?"
"Good. Good. Good," Aaron said. "I like dinner."
JC was in the bathtub and his eyes were closed. The water was hot and it smelled like eucalyptus and lime. He slid slowly lower into the water so that he was submerged except for his upturned face which seemed now like an island. Moving his arms and legs made small waves move across the surface of the water and across his face. It felt good to feel the water trickle off his forehead and cheeks and lips and chin. He licked his lips and tasted the water. It was sweet and pungent and bitter and warm. The bathroom was dark except for the two candles burning at the end of the slate black ledge that surrounded and encased the tub, making it seem like an altar almost - dark and rectangular and imposing.
It was quiet except for the nearly silent sloshing sound of the water slowly lapping at the edge of JC's face and ears. Pressing his hands flat against the bottom of the tub, JC raised his head up out of the water and rested it on a folded white towel he'd put there to use as a pillow. JC opened his eyes and watched the flickering candle-shadows dance high on the wall next to the door. Then the door opened, and he could Lance's silhouette there, like a shadow too, but not, because JC knew that it was him.
Lance said nothing as he walked toward the tub and stepped into it and lowered himself into the water, opposite JC, so that his legs extended on each side of JC's legs, and his feet were pressed up against the sides of JC's chest. The water had made a noisy sloshing sound as Lance slid into it, and it lapped up JC's neck, and splashed against his chin and wetted his lips. Lance could see JC in the candlelight and he watched as a smile played slowly across his lips. JC took hold of Lance's left foot and he rubbed the sole of it with his thumb. He could feel Lance shudder and then softly laugh and shudder again.
"That tickles," Lance said, pulling his foot away and resting it between JC's legs and gently nudging him there.
"So does that," JC whispered.
"I know," Lance said.
Lance could feel JC's penis grow hard beneath the sole of his foot, and marveled at the thrill of touching it, still marveled, as if after nine years of touching it, he was still thrilled by it, at the gift of it, at the sweet sweet gift of it.
"You're all mine," Lance said, sliding through the water, over and on top of him and then next to him, and pulling JC into his arms and kissing him three times on the check, saying each time: "Mine. Mine. Mine."
"Yours. Yours. Yours," JC said, whispering it into Lance's ear.
Lance grasped his hand around JC's erection, rolling the foreskin back and feeling for the tip of it and the moisture there; it was always there; and he found it each time, and finding it sighed and ran his finger down the hard ridged underside of it, that ridge right there, with no curve to it at all, not like his, with its steep-sloped curve, so much so that when he was hard the head of it touched the lower slope of his stomach just above his pubic hair. JC always kissed that spot, and always licked the liquid he found there, which was always there, except tonight, JC didn't lick it because his face was pressed into the bend of Lance's neck, and he was licking there.
Lance listened and heard JC's soft gasps, and felt him suck and lick and nip at the taut tendon on the side of his neck. Lance's hand slid slowly up and down the full length of what he held, gripping it tightly, not wanting to let lose of it, wanting to hear the wail of JC getting to the brink of it, and then feel the thick liquid of it leaking down across his fingers. He loved the feel of it, the convulsion, and to hold JC against him, holding him as he slowly convulsed and whimpered, thinking: Oh my god I love that whimper, and that gasp, and how he holds to me, holds on to me.
JC didn't resist it. He couldn't. And he didn't try to struggle free, to struggle for a turn to touch Lance. He knew (and loved) Lance wanting to touch him, just him, and not be touched, except for him holding him, holding onto him, clutching him as the water sloshed and splashed against his face and he could hear it hit the floor too, the sloshing water, as he held to Lance, and held his face in his hands and moaned into his lips as he kissed him and said: Yes. Yes. Yes.
"Oh Josh," Lance said, feeling the swelling that told him the whimper was near.
JC pulled away from the kiss and pressed his head back against the towel, now wet from the waves of water that had hit it, drenching it. Lance could see JC open his mouth, as if to gasp, but saying nothing, nothing at first, and then: Yours. And Lance kissed him as he squeezed hard at the base of what he held knowing it was near, his coming (and the convulsions and the whimper) and not knowing whether he wanted it to end yet but then knowing it was too late to not end it now because he felt it stiffen and throb and he heard JC begin to whimper, and they both said, Yes, Yes, Yes, as JC's semen floated to the surface of the still warm water like the tendrils of a white plant growing up from the depths of the sea to seek the surface and the sun.
Aaron was sitting on the edge of the bed in the main guest room. His feet dangled high above the floor. He watched as Justin folded clothes and added them to the pile he was making next to the black leather duffel bag that sat open on the bed. It was just past eleven in the morning, and Aaron had just gotten back from the pediatrician's office.
"So A," Justin said, stuffing the clothes he'd folded into the duffel bag. "Did you say hi to Dr. Mel for me?'
"Yes," Aaron said, kicking his feet against the edge of the bed. "She said hi too."
"Right on," Justin said, zipping the duffel bag and setting it on the floor.
"Dr. Mel likes you," Aaron said, giggling.
"Now what makes you say that, A?" Justin said, sitting next to Aaron on the bed and leaning against him. "You ain't holding out on me, are you?"
"No," Aaron said, bouncing on the bed as he said it, and continuing to bounce. "She. Told. My. Dad. You. Was. Nice. And. She. Said. She. Likes. You."
"She did?" Justin said, standing up and plunging his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "She said that?"
"Yes. She. Did," Aaron said, still bouncing on the bed.
"Wow," Justin said, looking up at the ceiling and closing his eyes for a moment.
Aaron stopped bouncing on the bed and looked up at Justin. His upraised face was held now at the same angle as Justin's face, and it caught the light, and they seemed to be staring at the same thing now, as if standing outside in the sun and watching a bird fly by, or looking at the sky through the crooked fingers of bare tree branches. Justin pressed his lips together, trying to contain the smile forming on his face, and he opened his eyes and helped Aaron off the bed. The sound of Aaron's bare feet hitting the floor sounded like two hands clapped together. Without any thought as to why, or perhaps because the sound that Aaron's feet had made prompted him to do it, Justin clapped his hands together as he and Aaron walked out of the room. He did it three times, and tilted his head back, and each time clapped his hands together and laughed.
JC watched Lance appear at the back door and walk towards him from the house. The floodlights were on and his shadow stretched for at least twelve feet before him. He carried a bottle and two glasses. It looked like champagne, but JC could not tell for sure, not at first, and then he saw that it was champagne, and he smiled and stood up. When he arrived at the gazebo, and climbed its three small wooden steps, Lance handed JC a glass. It was chilled, and touching it prickled the skin on JC's right arm.
"What's the occasion," JC asked, smiling at Lance and watching him fill the glass with champagne.
"I don't know," Lance said, shrugging and filling his own glass too. "Maybe just getting back to normal, and having things settle down."
"Yeah," JC said, tipping his glass toward Lance. "Normal is nice."
Lance clicked the edge of his glass against the glass that JC had tilted towards his own, and then he took a long slow sip of champagne, letting it play across his tongue, and holding it in his mouth before he swallowed it in three small gulps. JC watched Lance take that first long slow sip of champagne, and watched the rise and fall of his neck as he swallowed it. He took a sip himself, swallowing it quickly, and he reached up to touch the soft pale skin at the base of Lance's neck. It was soft, and warm, and he could feel his pulse there. Lance set the bottle down, and his glass down, and he pulled JC toward him - eagerly, smiling, and not wanting to wait, and not waiting, to kiss him.
Aaron lay asleep, clutching the stuffed velveteen rabbit that was his favorite. His room was filled with moonlight that seemed to shimmer on the walls, like the way water does when lit from below. It was quiet except for the sound of his slow steady breathing. JC and Lance stood silently in the doorway to his room, arm in arm, Lance's head resting on JC's shoulder as they both watched Aaron sleep. They had been standing there for only a minute, or maybe three, having just come in from outside and upstairs.
Standing there, it seemed to them like more than a minute, and more than three. It seemed to them like all the time there'd ever been, and ever could be. It seemed to them like a moment outside of time, of all time. And it seemed to them like all the time they ever wanted, or would ever need. It was their time, the three of them, together. And it was so good.