3.

It was a Monday when I met him. The week passes, long and dull. We're open every day except Wednesday. Don't ask me why Wednesday. I don't know. Wednesday is the longest day. Long, agonizing, alone. I sit at home, the last encounter - perhaps the last for good - with Siathan only a day or so ago. Thursday and Friday are back to work. They're a little less painful. At least I have something to do, even if it's only to make work for myself. Rearranging and organizing books that don't really need it. I find it difficult to sit still. I had enough stillness on Wednesday sitting in front of the TV, brooding. Thursday and Friday I move, whether I need to or not. Saturday there's nothing left to be done. I sit at the cash register with a book in front of me that I can't possibly hope to read. My mind is a million miles away. Another world away.

Closing time comes. 9 PM. Our hours are late and later. Get up late in the morning, stay up half the night. That's my life. I have to hurry to catch the last bus. I finally got into the book, after a morning of fits and starts, pages read two or three times. I've managed to lumber my way through a few chapters at last. I look up and realize I'm running late. That's the first thing I notice - the blessed loss of a few hours I would have spent worried and wondering.

The second thing I notice is Siathan, standing outside the door, waiting for me. Looking in at me. He reminds me of someone observing an animal in a zoo. He sees me see him and waves, then turns away, waiting. I leave the book open on the desk, and hurry to get my jacket on and meet him. Later I'll wonder if I even locked the door. But I won't go back to check.

"Hi, James," he says.

"Hi, Siathan," I say. Overly brightly. Overeager, like some teenage girl with a crush. I'd like to say, 'where have you been?' and 'why didn't you come home with me?' but I don't want to jeopardize the moment. The pleasure of having him return wins out over any anger I felt over his disappearance.

"Don't you want to know where I've been?" he asks. Mischievously.

"Uh, well, yeah, I was wondering," I admit.

"Around," is all he says. Around - he says it long, drawn out. An anonymous around. That's the best answer I'm getting. It suits me fine. I don't even care anymore. I don't ask questions.

He looks at me curiously. Maybe he wanted to be missed. He offers an explanation into the lull in the conversation.

"Time's not the same, James," he says. "Between here and there, I mean."

"Oh," I say. My heart beats a bit faster - does he mean he meant to be back sooner? Did he miss me? My mind leaps from though to thought, all the while the rational part of it reminding me that I'm acting like some prepubescent girl.

Or maybe I'm just in love. I look at him and smile. He smiles back and we hold hands. It's not exactly broad daylight, and the streets surely aren't deserted, but I probably should care that I'm walking hand in hand with a, uhh, well, fairy boy. At least he's got shoes on today. Somehow the notion of his bare feet on snow disconcerts me more than the fact that we're both guys. Once I've glanced down and seen that he's got shoes on, I'm more than happy to walk with him. I don't even care who looks. The truth is, no ones looking, no one cares. It disappoints me some. I have the most gorgeous guy on my arm, and no one even looks.

"Do you mind walking? To my apartment, I mean. I think we missed the last bus," I say.

"I don't mind," he says.

"You're not going to run away again, are you?" I say. He sighs.

"I didn't run away, James," he says.

"Why didn't you follow, then?" I ask.

"Umm, I don't know. I guess going to where you live, it just seemed, too private," he says. He looks at me like he hopes I understand what he means. Private. I know he really doesn't understand what it means. I suspect he'd walk down the street naked without feeling the least bit awkward. Probably fuck on a park bench with a gaggle of schoolkids watching and not feel that it was the least bit inappropriate. That is if he knew what fucking was. When he knows what fucking is.

"Oh. But you're ready to go there now?" I ask.

"Yeah. I am," he says. That's what he says. But to me it feels as if he's literally dragging his feet. Holding hands and walking with him is like holding hands with someone on a moving sidewalk going the opposite direction.

"Is there somewhere else you'd rather go?" I ask.

"The park? Maybe?" he says hopefully. I know I told myself I'd never say no to him again, but, though it's not below zero out, it's still uncomfortable. And there are other worries.

"We'll get arrested," I say. He laughs out loud.

"Arrested? For doing...what we've been doing?" he says. I nod, yes, I'm serious. He looks thoughtful. "Okay, well, they won't see us. Not unless we want them to. Not unless I want them to."

"It's still cold out. It's uncomfortable. For me, at least," I say. He doesn't say anything. I swear I can feel him slipping away from me, fingers, body, mind, ready to flee.

"We could go back to the shop," I say as the thought hits me. He didn't mind being there before. I can see he's thinking it over.

"Okay," he says with a nod. We turn around and head back the way we came. The niceties are over now. We don't talk. We walk faster, both agreed now on our destination. And on what we'll do when we get there, I'm assuming. Siathan flashes that coy smile at me that's all full of not so coy promises, and I think that I'm not assuming wrong.

We both quicken our step.

Although I won't get the satisfaction of spending what I hope will be our first night of real lovemaking together in my own bed, I am granted the small boon of not having to worry whether I locked the shop or not. I did. And I do it again, behind us. I know my way around even in the dark, and Siathan seems to have no trouble seeing and following me, so I don't bother with the lights until we're all the way back to the back room. I reach up for the pull. Siathan's eyes glitter in amusement.

"It looks like you've been busy while I was away," he says. I just shrug. Not sure why I did it - except in hopes he'd come back, of course - but cushions from stored chairs have found their way in here while I was reorganizing. A sheet - a dust cover - is not so dusty and covers the arrangement of cushions. The whole thing is rather a mess, but looks more comfortable than what we had before. Siathan sits down.

"You wanted me to come back," he says.

"Yeah. I did," I say. He just nods, smiling. There's a minute or so of nothing. No talking, nothing but us sitting there, side by side but not touching. I don't know what we're waiting for, so I make up my mind that I won't wait any longer. I turn to him and kiss him. He's responsive, pliant under my lips and my touch. I push him back on our makeshift bed. He allows me to undress him. I start with the shoes, and they nearly thwart me. They're hiking boots, just like mine. I wonder if he found them or made them - thought them - to be like mine. Whatever the case, I don't think he's ever learned to tie his shoes. My mother's lessons, 'make a bunny ear out of each sting and loop them over' come back to me as I try, frantically, to undo the snarl of knots he's made. Finally I just give each boot as sharp tug and they're off. The rest of his clothes are easy. The same faded blue jeans. A silky shirt. They slip off him easily. I think I could just sit here staring at him for the rest of the night and be content. He's already aroused, and waits for me in a relaxed and open pose, laying on his back, one arm behind his head and one leg slightly bent. The other hand's fingers curl and uncurl against the sheet, the only sign at all that he isn't perfectly relaxed. Even his cock, though engorged, lays against his belly, resting, waiting.

I get undressed and lay beside him. I want to kiss him for a while, and for a little while he permits it, but then he pushes me down. I let him guide me to where he wants me - with my mouth on his cock.

"Show me. Show me more?" he asks. I'm already sucking on him. His fingertips weave through my hair. I hold his cock to lick the head of it, then swallow it again. I take in as much as I can. It's enough to make him gasp out in pleasure. His hands tighten in my hair, to the point of being uncomfortable. Maybe it's to get my attention. He speaks again.

"Show me everything," he says. Everything can't happen in a night, maybe not even in a lifetime or two. But I don't want to try to explain this to him. He wants more, and I want to fuck him, desperately. I've never wanted anything or anyone so badly in my life.

"Everything," he says, breathily. It's too much for me. I ought to go slow. I ought to...well, I have a guilty feeling I ought to do more than I'm planning on doing. But I'm hungry for him, and in a hurry. I put my hand behind his bent knee and push his leg up, letting his cock out of my mouth so my tongue can dip down, licking his balls, pushing his leg up against his chest. He holds it for me and I dip my tongue down to his asshole, lapping at it, dipping into it as best I can at this awkward angle. The little moans of pleasure he's making encourage me. I lick at him eagerly, making my face almost as wet as I'm making him in my eagerness. I reach up to wipe some spittle off my cheek and then I dip my finger into my mouth, then press it into the crack of his ass, seeking out his opening, and pushing my way inside him.

I watch his face as I do. The way he bites his lip. The little moans of pleasure. The way he wriggles around, twisting on my finger as is he doesn't quite know what else to do with himself. His fingers grasp uselessly at the sheets. I want to take his hand and put it on his cock. The thought of watching him jack off as I finger fucked him is making me even hornier. But I don't want it to end like that again, with both of us jacking off. No matter how good that was before, it's not enough. Maybe later, it'll be enough again. But all I want right now is to fuck him, to be inside him. The thought itself is almost enough to make me go over the edge. If it wasn't, the look he makes when a second finger joins the first might be.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" I ask. He shakes his head no. His eyes close. His cock jerks and dances against his stomach, a wet drop glistening on the tip. I can't wait anymore. I gently pull my fingers out of him. He opens his eyes at the sensation of loss. He waits for whatever's next.

"Get up. Up on your knees," I ask him. I have to choke the words out. I can barely think, let alone talk. He does as I ask. He's kneeling, facing me. I can't resist kissing him.

"Hands and knees," I say, turning him around even within our embrace. He turns and repositions himself as I asked. On hands and knees. I kneel behind him, reaching forward to push him down so he's on knees and elbows. His ass is up, and I find I love the look of him like this. I love the look of him all the time, but on his hand and knees, looking up over his shoulder at me, hot and waiting, that's almost unbearably beautiful. I hold his hips and lick him again, pressing my face against him, pushing my tongue in him as far as I can. He moans. He whimpers. Does he know the word fuck? I want him to ask me to fuck him. If he can read my mind, he isn't doing it now. I stop what I'm doing. I take my cock in my hand and press it against his wetted, relaxed hole.

"I want to fuck you, Siathan," I say, rubbing the head of my cock against his hole, on his wetted ass crack, and back against his hole. He pushes back against my cock, wanting more. So I push myself against him. Nothing happens for a second. He's still so fucking tight. I push harder and I enter him. He sucks his breath in, but he doesn't tell me to stop. I press myself into him, further, further, until I'm buried to the hilt.

"It hurts," he whimpers. I don't know if he means pain, pleasure, or both. I don't thrust into or out of him yet. I can't. If I do, it'll be all over. I lean over him, waiting for the sensations to ebb off a bit. I don't answer him. I'm beyond words. But I reach around him and take his cock in my hand. He's gone semi-limp. I stroke him back to hardness before I return upright behind him. I take him by the hips and I fuck him. Gently, slowly at first. Every stroke seems to bring some new sound of pleasure out of him. A little sigh of breath, a gasp, a whimper. He matches my strokes, backing back onto my cock.

"Fuck me. Fuck me," he says. I can hear the want in his voice. I love the sound of his wanting. I wish I could last longer. I'd fuck him all night, tease him, take him to the edge and leave him hanging. I'd listen to him beg and plead for release for hours. But I can't last hours. Maybe a minute or two more. I lean over to jack him off just as I come into him. It takes barely nothing to get him off. His body jerks and he thrusts back onto me one last time, his muscles clenching around my cock, milking me dry as he comes onto my hand, himself, and out makeshift bed. He turns his head to kiss me. We kiss with numb kisses not quite hitting the mark before we both collapse forward, pulling ourselves apart.

He turns to lay facing me and the kisses are now on target. We lay there face to face, arms wrapped around each other. I want to ask him, I want to know if he liked it, but I just don't feel like talking. His kisses are warm, his eyes bright, watery blue. Shining. I am all yawns between kisses and he's all smiles. I don't want to fall asleep. I don't want to lose him to a dream.

"Shhh," he breathes after one final kiss. He reaches up, stroking my hair. I want to tell him to stop. No, I don't want him to stop. It feels so good. So relaxing. But I don't want to fall asleep. I open my eyes, blinking the sleep out of them. The last thing I remember is Siathan's bemused little smile as my eyelids fell closed again.