Author's Note: This, for those of you who are incapable of independent thought, is a gay love story. It's got no sex, just a romance and major angst. If the smut is what you're looking for, see this story's predecessor, "Dimitri", which will explain the back story for the lovers pictured hereinbelow. This story is rated R for violence and coarse language. This story is (c) 1997 by Novus Homo (a pseudonym), and is a complete work of fiction. Comments to ganymede@hotmail.com. Compliments, congratulations, constructive criticism, and corrections (talk about awkward and affected alliteration) will be cheerfully responded to; flames will be cheerfully ignored. Enjoy the show.
INCIDENT by Novus Homo
...I am hurt. A plague on both your houses! I am sped. -William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
It all started with milk. I needed milk. It was a beautiful summer night and I realized that if Ididn't get some tonight, we'd be out of it for breakfast in the morning.
"Hey Meech!"
"Yeah?" responded Dimitri, my husband. He flipped off the t.v.
"You wanna go with me to get some milk? We're all out."
"Sure, Steve, whatever. There's nothing on the tube anyway."
Dimitri got up off the sofa and moved with easy grace towards the door. I put on my backpack and took a look at my lover, as I liked to do as often as possible. His beautiful, thick black hair, which was touseled in the front and flowed in waves over his scalp down to his neck; his lovely face, which was his pride and my joy; his dark, deep eyes which pulled you in from across the room; his soft, clear, light skin which betrayed his half-Russian heritage. Under his quiet grey shirt was the muscular, but not bulging, frame of his, as well as the sweet spot on his back which makes him go nuts when I kiss it. Others might call him plain, but he was the most handsome creature I knew, and I was his husband! Kismet works in strange ways.
"You got the money?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah, Steve," he responded with the same ease with which he moved. We left the apartment together and I locked up.
We left the building and began to walk down Rachel St., to the depanneur two blocks down, and chatting about nothing in particular. Before we had gotten halfway, I heard a vicious voice behind me.
"Hey faggots! Goin' anywhere?" I whipped around, and this punk kid in a leather jacket was holding a knife and wearing a predatory leer on his face. I heard another noise behind me and two other punks were advancing behind us. I turned pale.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," blurted Dimitri. "Run, dammit!" Then they leapt on us. I dodged them, but one of the punks in the back brought a baseball bat across Dimitri's chest. He went down gasping, and the first kid took his knife and stabbed... oh god, he stabbed Dimitri!
I went ape shit! I grabbed this kid's arm and brought it down across my knee. The knife clattered to the ground and I snapped my leg up and nailed him in the jaw. He went out cold. The kid with the bat tried to bring it down on my head, but I ducked the blow, then let the momentum carry him forward and smashed my fist into his nether regions. He knelt gasping, then he got up and ran off with his buddy. I dropped to my knees and fighting back tears of terror, looked at Dimitri.
He was unnaturally pale and gasping with the pain. His hand was held over his abdomen; blood was oozing out through his fingers.
"Oh christ, oh christ oh christ" I muttered as I stripped his bloody shirt off and tied it around the wound. I pressed on it to try to stanch the blood , causing a sharp intake of breath. "We've got to get you to a hospital," I said. Way to state the obvious, Steve. My god, he was still conscious, his face screwed up in pain.
Some angel must have been watching us because at that moment, one of Montreal's finest rounded the corner. He saw us and came running. "Qu'est-ce qui s'passe?" he demanded.
"Help me," I pleaded in French. "He's been stabbed. He stabbed him," I said, pointing to the unconscious thug. The policeman pulled out his mike and ordered an ambulance. At this point, the punk came around and the policeman arrested him.
The ambulance came, and took Dimitri and me to the hospital. I stood out of the way of the paramedics performing first aid, until Dimitri gasped and moaned, "what happened?"
I went to him. "These - these guys attacked us, Meech. You got hurt," I choked.
"'sit bad?"
"I don't know how b-bad it is. Does it hurt?"
"Yeah. Hurts."
His head rolled back and began to look up at the ceiling. He had lost consciousness. I retreated from his side where the paramedics were laboring to save his life, and wept.
His life was saved.
He lay in intensive care in the hospital, with an IV line in his arm and an unflattering blue hospital robe on. It had taken five hours and some large number of stitches to clean and close the wound and to replace the blood he had lost. Also, he had an ugly bruise and a scar on his temple where he had fallen to the pavement. I was by his side, holding his hand, and agonizing.
"I can't believe you still love me," I said. "I keep fucking up your life. First your dad disowns you, and now this..."
"Sshh, Steve," he said, with his normal good spirits returning. "Do you remember what I said the night you proposed to me?"
"How could I forget? 'It's his fault! His! If he's gonna be a homophobic bigoted fuckhead, it's him, not you! He can go to hell! I love you!'" we recited in unison. "Meech, you're so good to me."
"You too, Steve."
"Thanks for.." what? surviving? Easing my life? Being my friend since high school? "...being you." It was the single sappiest thing I could have said.
"You're welcome, I'm sure!" he said in an incredulous tone of voice, and I laughed until I wept again.
"Dimitri?"
"Yea?"
"If you ever scare me like that again, I don't know what I'll do."
"How about this?" he said, and stretched one arm around my neck and pulled me down to where he was resting. He kissed me. The embrace lasted a long time, but not as long as I would have liked. I wanted it to last the rest of my life.
So far, it has.