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arch_calzenA truly gigantic thing, ugh! And Douglas' brother is a two-faced bastard, but I like him for some reason.
* * *
Martin woke up a little past ten hundred, as was his habit during days off when he wasn’t too exhausted by the previous day.
It wasn’t like he knew the precise time, for he still had yet to open his eyes; on the other hand, Martin knew how his body worked and saw no reason for it to surprise him now.
He lay curled up on his right side, so the man stretched himself slowly, sighing the first deep breath of the day and turning onto his back during the process. That was when Martin finally opened his eyes, lazily glancing around the murky room, arms skimming across the sheets, mind reveling in the softness of… well, everything his senses reported to him.
It took Martin a second to remember where he was, the unfamiliar sight, scent and feel tangibly different from Martin’s attic. Also, lack of sound was just as unfamiliar, what with students banging doors, turning on the TV and becoming really noisy themselves as they were gradually waking up.
Martin pushed himself up on his elbows, legs kicking at the sheets until he was able to place them over the covers, then sat cross-legged and rubbed his face with both hands, willing the morning sleepiness away. Thankfully, the curtains didn’t let much light into the room, so it didn’t assault his sensitive eyes.
Martin leant back on outstretched arms and sighed, before swinging his legs to his right and placing bare feet down on the wooden floor. The parquet was chilly, and Martin made an effort to not immediately tuck his legs back under the covers; after all, he desperately needed to pee, there was not really much time to spare, as his previous cross-legged position kindly reminded him. So he curled his toes several times, getting used to the temperature, then got up and walked out of the room.
Martin’s original intention was to go to the bathroom, but he froze half-way to the door, his hand already reaching out to pull it open. His brain was still slow to catch up with the body, but clearly something wasn’t right, so he paused mid-movement and willed himself to wake up and think.
Ah, of course. Obvious. Martin nearly slapped himself for this – thankfully private – display of stupidity, but instead just let his hand drop. Going to the bathroom would mean passing through Douglas’ bedroom, and this just didn’t make sense. At this stage of their relationship, Martin thought it would be extremely uncomfortable for both of them (or at least for him) to… to what, exactly? Seeing the other person on his way to the loo wasn’t something neither of them had ever done, so why was it different now? Maybe because earlier they had been – just that – colleagues, friends, and being stuck in one hotel room didn’t exactly help witnessing less of each other’s routine. Martin blinked, imagining the scene that could happen under present circumstances, ‘Hey, don’t mind me in your cozy bed, that’s just your boyfriend going through your bedroom to take a piss,’ and couldn’t help but shudder. No, that just wouldn’t do, so he turned around and padded downstairs.
Ten minutes later, he emerged from the loo, shaking water droplets off his hands after washing them, and steered to the kitchen. It was a relatively big room with a large doorway and the walls hidden behind worktops, cupboards and various kitchen appliances safe for that single space where a huge window was. In the centre, a high table on two legs rose, surrounded by three wooden chairs of respective height. Martin strolled around the kitchen, looking intently at the appliances until he found something resembling a coffee-machine. The thing seemed complicated as hell, so the man paused in his actions and walked over to the sink to splash some water in his face before returning to the device.
It took him another several minutes to get the machine working, and with a sigh of relief he climbed up on one of the chairs – almost literally climbed, due to his height, and Martin was incredibly glad there was no one to witness – and settled with his elbows upon the table’s surface, watching the machine as it hummed lowly.
The hum made the man become concerned that he’d wake up Douglas, who was supposedly still asleep, judging by the lack of said man in the common area of the house. And since the bedroom was directly above the kitchen, noise in the kitchen was most likely to rouse him.
Of course, there was no way for Martin to know the sound transmission of the walls and whether he should worry if they weren’t thick enough, so he continued to fidget and squirm restlessly almost to the point of getting off the chair and turning off the blasted machine, when the doorbell rang. Martin started and froze mid-squirm, looking automatically in the direction of the door, though he couldn’t see it from the table. The sound had been so loud it drowned out the coffee-machine, and now it was almost dead-silent to Martin’s ears.
Someone was there, what was he to do? Was he to open the door, to wake up Douglas or just sit there and pretend nothing happened? What was appropriate for the situation? Martin didn’t really like opening doors to strangers (though God knew how many strangers had opened their doors to him during his van-job), and it so did not help that he was in another person’s house, with its owner asleep and no one there to consult with. A stray irrational thought of a burglary about to occur flashed through his mind, and if one could stare at thoughts, Martin certainly would now. Seriously, a burglar actually ringing a doorbell at, what, half past ten in the morning?
‘Come on, be a man, for heaven’s sake, you are not eight anymore,’ Martin rebuked himself as he slid off the chair and took a step towards the door. It wasn’t like he was afraid; hell, an adult in his mid-thirties afraid of opening the door? But he just really, really didn’t like the thought of opening it to someone without Douglas knowing. It just didn’t feel right.
Maybe the man at the door had already become tired of waiting and went away? Martin stilled and listened intently. Or maybe he decided that no one was home? Martin inched closer to the doorway and peeked out to get a look at the door in desperate hope that he was right. His heart sank as he saw a dark form through the frosted glass in the upper half of the door. He couldn’t make out any features, but that was decidedly a male, and a male of no slight build.
Yes, it was childish, but how he hated opening doors to strangers. ‘Douglas, wake uup,’ Martin willed the older man.
The bell rang again, and Martin nearly jumped. Behind, he heard the coffee-machine going off as it finished its job, the smell of the godly liquid travelling slowly out of the kitchen.
Several long seconds later, he manned up, squared his shoulders and strode determinedly over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open swiftly, before he had a chance to change his mind and course and hide in the loo instead.
The man, who was previously standing with his back turned to the door, slowly turned around like a big cat on a sunlit windowsill. In the split second that Martin had, he saw that the man was around his late fifties, had an indeed big and sturdy build, a determined face with a strong chin and attentive eyes, and thick wavy hair that had turned almost completely gray.
“Took you long, really. And there you thought I wouldn’t smell the coffee?” the stranger drawled in a rich velvety voice (that sounded so much like Douglas’) with a smile as he turned and finally saw Martin. “Why, hello there,” if the man was surprised by Martin’s presence, he hid it decidedly well. Unlike Martin.
“Uh, um,” he started. “Umm. Err,” Martin could feel his face turn red all the way up to his hair and down to his neck. Also, he suddenly became conscious of his disheveled state, face covered in water droplets, bare feet and loose clothes, compared to the fully-dressed and groomed man. “Ugh,” he finished lamely and cringed, giving up.
The stranger turned his head to a side and raised an eyebrow, his face an expression of utter amusement.
“Now this is interesting…” the man said as if to himself, looking up and down the younger man with the same amused smirk. He then raised his gaze, and Martin was fairly sure he adopted the deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression as light-blue, almost colorless eyes bore into his. “Mmm. Do you speak English?” the man spoke slowly, accentuating each word.
“Uh. Err. Yes. I,” Martin spluttered. There was no way he could explain to himself just why this man affected him so. There was no real reason, even though he did remind him of Douglas… Though wait, maybe THAT was the exact reason.
“Very good,” the man’s smile widened fractionally. “Then maybe I could enter and we could close the door? It’s quite cold outside in February,” he stepped forward as he spoke, and Martin moved hurriedly aside to let him in. Even if this man was not supposed to be allowed to enter, he almost literally radiated confidence, and there wasn’t really anything Martin could do.
“Is Doug up yet?” the man asked as he took off his coat, brushing snow off it with one hand.
“Um. No. No, he’s not,” Martin found himself able to form something that resembled sentences when the man wasn’t looking at him. “Still asleep, that’s- I mean.”
The man hung his coat and turned to face Martin, making him freeze again. “Yes, I gathered as much,” he said and sat down on a pouffe to untie his boots. “Now, to whom do I owe this pleasure of a lazy morning chit-chat?”
It took Martin a second to process the question, and then he decided to answer quickly while the man’s head was still bent down along with his upper body.
“I’m Martin Crieff. I’m the Ca-” he cut himself off in alarm. What if this was one of those people who thought Douglas was the Captain? He certainly didn’t want to let Douglas down. “-Martin Crieff.”
The man looked up at him briefly. “’The’ Martin Crieff? Fascinating.”
There was no malice in his voice, really, nothing but humour of someone who lived to amuse themselves, and yet Martin felt like he was put under a microscope, and the humour was more of a scientist’s, who still lived to amuse himself… by dissecting whatever was on the slide.
Martin was ready to splutter again, when the man got up from the pouffe and bellowed, turning in the direction of the stairs.
“RICHARDSON!!! I’ve broken into the house and taken your little friend hostage, care to come downstairs?!”
Martin did a little jump he would forever deny, and flinched away slightly at the unexpected shout. Well, if chilly floor, cold water, smell of coffee and a random man at the door hadn’t managed to wake him up, this certainly did. The man looked at him sideways briefly and grinned.
“I do still smell coffee. Care for a cup?” he said and headed to the kitchen, not waiting for Martin’s reply, who stood frozen for a second, then minced along hurriedly.
“Milk?” the man asked as he took three mugs from one of the cupboards and started pouring coffee. Martin wasn’t sure if that was an offer or a request.
“Err, yes, wait, I’ll get-” he made a hasty step towards the fridge, but the man shot him another amused look – seemed like the word ‘amused’ was the key one for describing him – and covered the distance to the fridge in several measured steps.
“Stay put before you trip over something,” he said as he retrieved the carton from the fridge and filled a jug before setting it on the table. Martin felt himself turning an even deeper shade of red as he approached the table and climbed on the chair, trying to make as little movements as possible: maybe then this man will stop noticing him. ‘Too late to flee, sadly,’ Martin mused as he stared down at the table’s surface. A steaming mug appeared in the corner of his eye, and he pulled it to himself, adding milk and sugar absently, feeling the same curious gaze of the older man as he sat diagonally from him.
Thankfully, a few seconds later they heard a loud bang of a door being closed, and then measured approaching footsteps as Douglas presented himself on the ground floor, wearing a dark-blue terry robe and woolen socks. Martin was so relieved at seeing the other man he almost grinned.
“Oh, you are here already,” Douglas scoffed half-heartedly as he entered the kitchen. “I remember you said ‘in the morning’, but seriously? Ten-fifty? That’s daybreak. Martin,” his voice dropped to an entirely different soft tone as he pronounced the younger man’s name in greeting, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly while passing him on his way to the fridge. Martin gave a small smile, turning his head to the left a bit as he followed the man’s movements. A second later he noticed that the stranger was watching him with a not-entirely-indifferent expression, and ducked his head quickly, staring in his mug, yet still able to observe Douglas’ actions.
Douglas pulled a bottle of mineral water out from the fridge and uncapped it, taking a large swig and draining half of it instantly, then walked over to the table and placed the bottle down with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Something – namely, the fierce state of the blush sported by one of the people present – tells me you haven’t been introduced yet,” he started after walking around to get his full mug, returning and seating himself near Martin and across the man. Martin glanced up in disbelief: ridiculous as it was, with all the confusion and spluttering he had completely forgotten to learn the man’s name! He could slap himself again, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
Douglas’ shoulder brushed his, and Martin relaxed enough to look at the man, meeting his intent gaze.
“Anyway, this is Martin, my colleague and friend, and this is Mike, the berk I have the privilege to call my brother. Mike teaches physical chemistry at the uni,” Douglas said casually and took a sip from his mug.
“Yep, to all those little shining beacons of science,” the man – Mike – saluted him.
Of course. Of co-ourse. Brother. It made sense, too bad his sleepy brain hadn’t managed such simple connections several minutes ago.
‘Hm, wait, wasn’t Mike the man that called Douglas yesterday?’ he tried to think. Too bad he had been too busy with his own thoughts at the moment to pay any attention to the conversation. ‘And I thought it was a burglar! Stupid, stupid,’ Martin drowned in self-humiliation, hiding his face behind the mug.
“…which brings me to the reason I am here, by the way,” Mike said, and Martin snapped out of his misery, listening to the talk.
“Do you want to take a look at it now?”
“If you don’t mind. It would be disgusting to forget it here after all the fuss.”
“Aw, and there I thought you liked visiting me,” Douglas didn’t sound in the least bit offended – Martin recognized sibling banter when he witnessed one – and slid off the chair easily, taking the mug.
“You’re all sorted here?” he asked, placing a hand between Martin’s shoulder-blades and leaning in over him slightly.
“Yeah. Completely,” Martin craned his neck to meet Douglas’ gaze with a soft smile. The older man’s lips parted for a moment, as if he was going to say or do something else, but then he seemed to shake it off and looked up at his brother instead, nodding in the direction of the hall, “Shall we?”
“Certainly,” Mike agreed and got up as well. “My pleasure,” he smirked at Martin and followed Douglas out of the room.
Martin glanced at them sideways until the view was obscured by a wall, their conversation gradually becoming muffled as they entered the living-room at the opposite side of the house. He waited for a minute, sipping at his coffee, then drained the mug in one large gulp (cringing at the burning sensation), quickly rinsed it and all but fled upstairs, hiding in the guestroom. It just was too much, and he desired some time alone.
* * *
“I am agog, I am aghast! Has my little brother finally crossed the metaphorical street?” Mike exclaimed as they entered the living-room, letting the doors slide closed, and Douglas cringed. The question just couldn’t not come, and he dreaded it somewhat, not quite willing to contemplate the answer just yet.
“Is there any reason for me to feign having no idea what you are talking about?” he asked exasperatedly.
“None whatsoever, but we can pretend for a while,” the other man replied easily.
“Oh thank God,” Douglas sighed, placing his mug down on the coffee-table in front of the sofa on his way to the small space between the wall and one of the bookcases. With a grunt, he retrieved a huge vaguely rectangular object from the space, cocooned in several layers of wrapping film.
“There you go, finally you relieve me from the ruddy thing,” he grumbled half-heartedly, carrying the cocoon over to the doors and placing it down to lean against the wall.
“Thanks,” Mike nodded. “Ben will be beside himself with excitement, their band really needs a synthethizer now. Oh, the fascination of youth.”
“Yes, just think of our band back then, ‘Annoying and Annoyed’”, Douglas laughed. “Is he, what, fourteen now?”
“Fifteen, actually.”
“Ah, yes, Mary is fourteen,” he remembered now.
A pause stretched for a few seconds.
“God, you are a grandfather,” Douglas shook his head in quiet disbelief.
“For quite some time, yes,” Mike confirmed with a sympathetic look. Douglas could bet anything that Mike knew precisely which train of thought he was now hovering over; the same question yet unspoken hung heavily above them.
“How’s Emma?” he asked. The interest was quite genuine, he hadn’t seen his brother’s wife for a long time already.
“Fine, actually,” Mike leant against the back of the sofa with one arm. “Has just bred some new type of those predatory plants for her research. She tried to explain it to me, but, you know, botany,” Mike made a face at the last word, and the two brothers laughed at the shared joke.
“And Jim and Leslie?” Douglas asked after his nephew and his wife.
“Away on their second honey-moon, went to Norway this time,” Mike smiled fondly as his son and daughter-in-law were mentioned. “So the kids stay with us, obviously.”
“Obviously, yes,” Douglas echoed. A pause stretched again; both of them were aware that this was the moment in a conversation when the questions were to be returned. Mike sighed with an air of a person who had a difficult task ahead, and was set to go through it and help his partner along.
“You know we have to discuss this, Doug,” he began sympathetically. If he dropped half the façade he played as soon as the doors slid closed behind them, now he threw it away altogether, plunging headfirst in the uneasy topic.
“Do you think I don’t know?” Douglas retorted, suddenly angry. He was relieved that Mike would understand the anger was not directed at him. He gritted his teeth and ran a hand down the synthethizer absently, using the feeling as something to anchor himself.
“Seriously, though,” Mike continued, his voice unusually soft for someone who wasn’t familiar with this side of the man, “this boy. Isn’t he a bit too young for you?”
As if it wasn’t what he had been thinking the previous day, seeing Martin so damn juvenile in those clothes! Douglas sighed. He and Mike had been really close during their early years, and even though they drifted apart a bit as time went, they remained close enough to speak boldly and straight to the topic with each other, and that was probably the thing Douglas appreciated most about his brother: not having to feign anything, because one would easily see through the other one’s masks.
“He is,” he confessed tiredly after a pause. “He is not even bloody forty, Mike!”
“On the other hand, Laura and Helena are both, what, around forty now?” Mike mused. Douglas felt a pang of sorrow: that still hurt.
“At least Jennifer was my age, wasn’t she?” he automatically feigned a grin, remembering his first wife – the only one that hadn’t actually cheated on him. They both were around twenty when they married, and split up just after a couple of years, growing up and apart. They parted in good spirits and never saw each other again.
Mike gazed at him solemnly, and Douglas dropped the grin, walking over to the sofa and sitting down. Mike joined him several seconds later and placed his mug on the table as well.
“Listen, little brother,” he started earnestly yet gently, sounding as much like the man Martin met as a random passerby in the street, “obviously, I know next to nothing about the young man and your relationship-”
“There is hardly any relationship,” Douglas interrupted. Mike was probably the only person Douglas would ask advice of, and if he wanted the whole picture, he would have it. “I mean, not in the common sense, anyway,” he cringed: denying that there was anything sounded hypocritical even to his own ears.
“Ah, so you are ‘dancing’, I take it?” Mike inquired. Douglas smiled: his older brother was – again – the only one whom he had shared his ‘social dancing’ theory with back then.
“We are, yes,” he recalled a string of events they both went through, and gave another fond smile at the memory. “God, will I ever stop being this hopeless romantic.”
Mike took a sip of his coffee and shifted, “Doug, as your brother, I feel obliged to give you The Speech.”
Douglas rolled his eyes, “Maybe we could skip that part? I’ve heard it three times so far, the last two weren’t much different from the first.”
“Oh but this one will be different, at least in the subtext, and you know that.” ‘And you could use some support’ hung unspoken between them.
“It will be short, don’t worry,” Mike smiled. “And I’ll just state an old truth this time. The age difference might be a problem, granted. But anyway, if you two are that far into the dance – and you are quite far, am I right?” Douglas nodded once, wordlessly, staring at his hands clasped in his lap. “Then to hell with all the doubts. You look much better than you did the last few times,” Mike remarked.
Douglas recalled those last few times. The second-to-last visit was when Douglas was already suspecting Helena’s infidelity, the last one – when Mike helped him move his things to the new house. Yes, he definitely looked better now, so that was hardly an argument.
“And this man (Douglas noticed how Mike purposefully avoided the word ‘boy’ at the last moment), he definitely felt better when you did us honour with your presence today.”
Douglas smirked, “Maybe that was just because I finally saved him from your dreadful company.”
“Come on, you, for example, don’t find it that dreadful.”
“I’m used to having you around for the last fifty-two years, you know.”
“Anyway, I didn’t finish my speech,” the older man sobered again, his voice turning practical. “There is a question I am supposed to ask, and I will state it as boldly as I usually do. The problem is to come out. The homosexual thing, obviously, especially after your three very much heterosexual marriages, and also the ‘rob the cradle’ accusation – I am sorry, but people will see it like this,” Mike frowned sympathetically at Douglas’ flinch.
“So the question is, will you be ready for that?” he paused. “I am not asking if you ARE ready, because you obviously aren’t, but will you be? Not for the social part at first, no, but at least for admitting and accepting the whole thing yourself?”
Douglas stared at nothing, deep in thought.
“I don’t know,” he shook his head in desperation. “I don’t know.”
Mike chewed on his lip, contemplating.
“But do you want to?”
‘Do I want to?’ Martin and him, together. Just being together – Douglas’ mind didn’t go much further after that, it didn’t need to. He recalled Martin’s face, his expressions of annoyance, irritation, mischief – care, worry, affection; his eyes, the smell of his hair, the feel of his touch, the way their minds – souls, even – complimented each other, working together as one, be it work, play or whatever else. They hadn’t done anything more than kissing so far – and he could count the number of kisses on one hand – but he was fully willing to keep it that way, or even to go back to casual touches, to even simply being together in the most obvious sense – sitting in one cockpit, playing word games, irritating Carolyn. Whatever Martin would want it to be, whatever this would turn out like, he would take it and be grateful.
“Yes,” he replied confidently. “I absolutely do.”
Mike smiled widely in response.
* * *
“Maybe I’ll call you some time, we’ll go sit somewhere?” Mike asked as he finished tying his boots and stood up.
“Sure thing, if your mummy allows you to,” Douglas smirked. His brother shook his head in mocking disapproval.
“Low blow, little brother, low blow. I’ll ask Emma, anyway,” he feigned an exhausted sigh of a man being bossed around by his wife and shrugged on his coat. He noticed something and turned his head to a side, “Hello again, young man!” he exclaimed. Douglas looked in the same direction and saw Martin coming down the stairs a bit sheepishly.
“Hey,” he said and smiled, raising his arm to beckon him over. Martin neared them, trying to look at ease, but still nervous somewhat, stopping at arm’s length by Douglas’ side, facing Mike. Douglas guessed the younger man heard Mike preparing to leave, and felt obliged to say goodbye.
“Errm,” Martin started and shifted, “pleased to have met you,” he said and extended an arm for a handshake.
Mike watched him for a moment, then gave one of his most sincere smiles he wore around people, grasped his hand and shook it shortly and firmly. “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, catching his gaze for a second. “Do attempt to stay around this twat for a while, hm?”
“Ah? Sure?” Martin answered in confusion, furrowing his brow slightly, but Mike had already released his hand, picked up the synthethizer and nodded at the door, shifting his gaze to Douglas.
“Care to help? A little tied up here.”
Douglas pulled the door open and stepped aside to let the other man out. “Cheers, Mike.”
“See you, boys!” he yelled without turning back and walked down the porch, heading to his car.
Douglas closed the door, shaking his head in amusement. “This berk.”
“Well, he didn’t seem too bad,” Martin’s brow was still furrowed, but he smirked easily, the ability to talk returning quickly.
“Didn’t he? I think he is just awful,” Douglas turned to face Martin.
“At least, you have much in common,” Martin now grinned openly, a hint of mischief showing in his eyes.
“Ah, so that’s what you are driving at.”
“Making you admit you are awful? Yes, that’s the thing. Absolutely terrific,” Martin joked, but quickly became concerned as Douglas’ smile faded slightly. “Is everything alright? I mean… You seem a bit… different now. Everything fine?”
Douglas looked down at the worried man and couldn’t help but smile, recalling his and Mike’s conversation. This brilliant, amazing, wonderful young man who was ridiculously attracted to someone as old and battered as Douglas, and he was almost ready to chicken out and give it all away? No way in hell. Mike was right, the bastard.
Douglas ran a hand up Martin’s arm lightly, then let it slide behind his shoulder and tugged him slightly towards himself, planting a small kiss in his hair and inhaling its warm scent. The only places where his body touched Martin’s were his crown and the back of his shoulder. Martin stiffened briefly, but relaxed almost immediately.
“Yes,” Douglas agreed. “Everything’s fine.”
He smiled once more against the soft curls, and Martin nuzzled up just a little bit, letting out a content sigh.
* * *
Martin woke up a little past ten hundred, as was his habit during days off when he wasn’t too exhausted by the previous day.
It wasn’t like he knew the precise time, for he still had yet to open his eyes; on the other hand, Martin knew how his body worked and saw no reason for it to surprise him now.
He lay curled up on his right side, so the man stretched himself slowly, sighing the first deep breath of the day and turning onto his back during the process. That was when Martin finally opened his eyes, lazily glancing around the murky room, arms skimming across the sheets, mind reveling in the softness of… well, everything his senses reported to him.
It took Martin a second to remember where he was, the unfamiliar sight, scent and feel tangibly different from Martin’s attic. Also, lack of sound was just as unfamiliar, what with students banging doors, turning on the TV and becoming really noisy themselves as they were gradually waking up.
Martin pushed himself up on his elbows, legs kicking at the sheets until he was able to place them over the covers, then sat cross-legged and rubbed his face with both hands, willing the morning sleepiness away. Thankfully, the curtains didn’t let much light into the room, so it didn’t assault his sensitive eyes.
Martin leant back on outstretched arms and sighed, before swinging his legs to his right and placing bare feet down on the wooden floor. The parquet was chilly, and Martin made an effort to not immediately tuck his legs back under the covers; after all, he desperately needed to pee, there was not really much time to spare, as his previous cross-legged position kindly reminded him. So he curled his toes several times, getting used to the temperature, then got up and walked out of the room.
Martin’s original intention was to go to the bathroom, but he froze half-way to the door, his hand already reaching out to pull it open. His brain was still slow to catch up with the body, but clearly something wasn’t right, so he paused mid-movement and willed himself to wake up and think.
Ah, of course. Obvious. Martin nearly slapped himself for this – thankfully private – display of stupidity, but instead just let his hand drop. Going to the bathroom would mean passing through Douglas’ bedroom, and this just didn’t make sense. At this stage of their relationship, Martin thought it would be extremely uncomfortable for both of them (or at least for him) to… to what, exactly? Seeing the other person on his way to the loo wasn’t something neither of them had ever done, so why was it different now? Maybe because earlier they had been – just that – colleagues, friends, and being stuck in one hotel room didn’t exactly help witnessing less of each other’s routine. Martin blinked, imagining the scene that could happen under present circumstances, ‘Hey, don’t mind me in your cozy bed, that’s just your boyfriend going through your bedroom to take a piss,’ and couldn’t help but shudder. No, that just wouldn’t do, so he turned around and padded downstairs.
Ten minutes later, he emerged from the loo, shaking water droplets off his hands after washing them, and steered to the kitchen. It was a relatively big room with a large doorway and the walls hidden behind worktops, cupboards and various kitchen appliances safe for that single space where a huge window was. In the centre, a high table on two legs rose, surrounded by three wooden chairs of respective height. Martin strolled around the kitchen, looking intently at the appliances until he found something resembling a coffee-machine. The thing seemed complicated as hell, so the man paused in his actions and walked over to the sink to splash some water in his face before returning to the device.
It took him another several minutes to get the machine working, and with a sigh of relief he climbed up on one of the chairs – almost literally climbed, due to his height, and Martin was incredibly glad there was no one to witness – and settled with his elbows upon the table’s surface, watching the machine as it hummed lowly.
The hum made the man become concerned that he’d wake up Douglas, who was supposedly still asleep, judging by the lack of said man in the common area of the house. And since the bedroom was directly above the kitchen, noise in the kitchen was most likely to rouse him.
Of course, there was no way for Martin to know the sound transmission of the walls and whether he should worry if they weren’t thick enough, so he continued to fidget and squirm restlessly almost to the point of getting off the chair and turning off the blasted machine, when the doorbell rang. Martin started and froze mid-squirm, looking automatically in the direction of the door, though he couldn’t see it from the table. The sound had been so loud it drowned out the coffee-machine, and now it was almost dead-silent to Martin’s ears.
Someone was there, what was he to do? Was he to open the door, to wake up Douglas or just sit there and pretend nothing happened? What was appropriate for the situation? Martin didn’t really like opening doors to strangers (though God knew how many strangers had opened their doors to him during his van-job), and it so did not help that he was in another person’s house, with its owner asleep and no one there to consult with. A stray irrational thought of a burglary about to occur flashed through his mind, and if one could stare at thoughts, Martin certainly would now. Seriously, a burglar actually ringing a doorbell at, what, half past ten in the morning?
‘Come on, be a man, for heaven’s sake, you are not eight anymore,’ Martin rebuked himself as he slid off the chair and took a step towards the door. It wasn’t like he was afraid; hell, an adult in his mid-thirties afraid of opening the door? But he just really, really didn’t like the thought of opening it to someone without Douglas knowing. It just didn’t feel right.
Maybe the man at the door had already become tired of waiting and went away? Martin stilled and listened intently. Or maybe he decided that no one was home? Martin inched closer to the doorway and peeked out to get a look at the door in desperate hope that he was right. His heart sank as he saw a dark form through the frosted glass in the upper half of the door. He couldn’t make out any features, but that was decidedly a male, and a male of no slight build.
Yes, it was childish, but how he hated opening doors to strangers. ‘Douglas, wake uup,’ Martin willed the older man.
The bell rang again, and Martin nearly jumped. Behind, he heard the coffee-machine going off as it finished its job, the smell of the godly liquid travelling slowly out of the kitchen.
Several long seconds later, he manned up, squared his shoulders and strode determinedly over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open swiftly, before he had a chance to change his mind and course and hide in the loo instead.
The man, who was previously standing with his back turned to the door, slowly turned around like a big cat on a sunlit windowsill. In the split second that Martin had, he saw that the man was around his late fifties, had an indeed big and sturdy build, a determined face with a strong chin and attentive eyes, and thick wavy hair that had turned almost completely gray.
“Took you long, really. And there you thought I wouldn’t smell the coffee?” the stranger drawled in a rich velvety voice (that sounded so much like Douglas’) with a smile as he turned and finally saw Martin. “Why, hello there,” if the man was surprised by Martin’s presence, he hid it decidedly well. Unlike Martin.
“Uh, um,” he started. “Umm. Err,” Martin could feel his face turn red all the way up to his hair and down to his neck. Also, he suddenly became conscious of his disheveled state, face covered in water droplets, bare feet and loose clothes, compared to the fully-dressed and groomed man. “Ugh,” he finished lamely and cringed, giving up.
The stranger turned his head to a side and raised an eyebrow, his face an expression of utter amusement.
“Now this is interesting…” the man said as if to himself, looking up and down the younger man with the same amused smirk. He then raised his gaze, and Martin was fairly sure he adopted the deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression as light-blue, almost colorless eyes bore into his. “Mmm. Do you speak English?” the man spoke slowly, accentuating each word.
“Uh. Err. Yes. I,” Martin spluttered. There was no way he could explain to himself just why this man affected him so. There was no real reason, even though he did remind him of Douglas… Though wait, maybe THAT was the exact reason.
“Very good,” the man’s smile widened fractionally. “Then maybe I could enter and we could close the door? It’s quite cold outside in February,” he stepped forward as he spoke, and Martin moved hurriedly aside to let him in. Even if this man was not supposed to be allowed to enter, he almost literally radiated confidence, and there wasn’t really anything Martin could do.
“Is Doug up yet?” the man asked as he took off his coat, brushing snow off it with one hand.
“Um. No. No, he’s not,” Martin found himself able to form something that resembled sentences when the man wasn’t looking at him. “Still asleep, that’s- I mean.”
The man hung his coat and turned to face Martin, making him freeze again. “Yes, I gathered as much,” he said and sat down on a pouffe to untie his boots. “Now, to whom do I owe this pleasure of a lazy morning chit-chat?”
It took Martin a second to process the question, and then he decided to answer quickly while the man’s head was still bent down along with his upper body.
“I’m Martin Crieff. I’m the Ca-” he cut himself off in alarm. What if this was one of those people who thought Douglas was the Captain? He certainly didn’t want to let Douglas down. “-Martin Crieff.”
The man looked up at him briefly. “’The’ Martin Crieff? Fascinating.”
There was no malice in his voice, really, nothing but humour of someone who lived to amuse themselves, and yet Martin felt like he was put under a microscope, and the humour was more of a scientist’s, who still lived to amuse himself… by dissecting whatever was on the slide.
Martin was ready to splutter again, when the man got up from the pouffe and bellowed, turning in the direction of the stairs.
“RICHARDSON!!! I’ve broken into the house and taken your little friend hostage, care to come downstairs?!”
Martin did a little jump he would forever deny, and flinched away slightly at the unexpected shout. Well, if chilly floor, cold water, smell of coffee and a random man at the door hadn’t managed to wake him up, this certainly did. The man looked at him sideways briefly and grinned.
“I do still smell coffee. Care for a cup?” he said and headed to the kitchen, not waiting for Martin’s reply, who stood frozen for a second, then minced along hurriedly.
“Milk?” the man asked as he took three mugs from one of the cupboards and started pouring coffee. Martin wasn’t sure if that was an offer or a request.
“Err, yes, wait, I’ll get-” he made a hasty step towards the fridge, but the man shot him another amused look – seemed like the word ‘amused’ was the key one for describing him – and covered the distance to the fridge in several measured steps.
“Stay put before you trip over something,” he said as he retrieved the carton from the fridge and filled a jug before setting it on the table. Martin felt himself turning an even deeper shade of red as he approached the table and climbed on the chair, trying to make as little movements as possible: maybe then this man will stop noticing him. ‘Too late to flee, sadly,’ Martin mused as he stared down at the table’s surface. A steaming mug appeared in the corner of his eye, and he pulled it to himself, adding milk and sugar absently, feeling the same curious gaze of the older man as he sat diagonally from him.
Thankfully, a few seconds later they heard a loud bang of a door being closed, and then measured approaching footsteps as Douglas presented himself on the ground floor, wearing a dark-blue terry robe and woolen socks. Martin was so relieved at seeing the other man he almost grinned.
“Oh, you are here already,” Douglas scoffed half-heartedly as he entered the kitchen. “I remember you said ‘in the morning’, but seriously? Ten-fifty? That’s daybreak. Martin,” his voice dropped to an entirely different soft tone as he pronounced the younger man’s name in greeting, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly while passing him on his way to the fridge. Martin gave a small smile, turning his head to the left a bit as he followed the man’s movements. A second later he noticed that the stranger was watching him with a not-entirely-indifferent expression, and ducked his head quickly, staring in his mug, yet still able to observe Douglas’ actions.
Douglas pulled a bottle of mineral water out from the fridge and uncapped it, taking a large swig and draining half of it instantly, then walked over to the table and placed the bottle down with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Something – namely, the fierce state of the blush sported by one of the people present – tells me you haven’t been introduced yet,” he started after walking around to get his full mug, returning and seating himself near Martin and across the man. Martin glanced up in disbelief: ridiculous as it was, with all the confusion and spluttering he had completely forgotten to learn the man’s name! He could slap himself again, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
Douglas’ shoulder brushed his, and Martin relaxed enough to look at the man, meeting his intent gaze.
“Anyway, this is Martin, my colleague and friend, and this is Mike, the berk I have the privilege to call my brother. Mike teaches physical chemistry at the uni,” Douglas said casually and took a sip from his mug.
“Yep, to all those little shining beacons of science,” the man – Mike – saluted him.
Of course. Of co-ourse. Brother. It made sense, too bad his sleepy brain hadn’t managed such simple connections several minutes ago.
‘Hm, wait, wasn’t Mike the man that called Douglas yesterday?’ he tried to think. Too bad he had been too busy with his own thoughts at the moment to pay any attention to the conversation. ‘And I thought it was a burglar! Stupid, stupid,’ Martin drowned in self-humiliation, hiding his face behind the mug.
“…which brings me to the reason I am here, by the way,” Mike said, and Martin snapped out of his misery, listening to the talk.
“Do you want to take a look at it now?”
“If you don’t mind. It would be disgusting to forget it here after all the fuss.”
“Aw, and there I thought you liked visiting me,” Douglas didn’t sound in the least bit offended – Martin recognized sibling banter when he witnessed one – and slid off the chair easily, taking the mug.
“You’re all sorted here?” he asked, placing a hand between Martin’s shoulder-blades and leaning in over him slightly.
“Yeah. Completely,” Martin craned his neck to meet Douglas’ gaze with a soft smile. The older man’s lips parted for a moment, as if he was going to say or do something else, but then he seemed to shake it off and looked up at his brother instead, nodding in the direction of the hall, “Shall we?”
“Certainly,” Mike agreed and got up as well. “My pleasure,” he smirked at Martin and followed Douglas out of the room.
Martin glanced at them sideways until the view was obscured by a wall, their conversation gradually becoming muffled as they entered the living-room at the opposite side of the house. He waited for a minute, sipping at his coffee, then drained the mug in one large gulp (cringing at the burning sensation), quickly rinsed it and all but fled upstairs, hiding in the guestroom. It just was too much, and he desired some time alone.
* * *
“I am agog, I am aghast! Has my little brother finally crossed the metaphorical street?” Mike exclaimed as they entered the living-room, letting the doors slide closed, and Douglas cringed. The question just couldn’t not come, and he dreaded it somewhat, not quite willing to contemplate the answer just yet.
“Is there any reason for me to feign having no idea what you are talking about?” he asked exasperatedly.
“None whatsoever, but we can pretend for a while,” the other man replied easily.
“Oh thank God,” Douglas sighed, placing his mug down on the coffee-table in front of the sofa on his way to the small space between the wall and one of the bookcases. With a grunt, he retrieved a huge vaguely rectangular object from the space, cocooned in several layers of wrapping film.
“There you go, finally you relieve me from the ruddy thing,” he grumbled half-heartedly, carrying the cocoon over to the doors and placing it down to lean against the wall.
“Thanks,” Mike nodded. “Ben will be beside himself with excitement, their band really needs a synthethizer now. Oh, the fascination of youth.”
“Yes, just think of our band back then, ‘Annoying and Annoyed’”, Douglas laughed. “Is he, what, fourteen now?”
“Fifteen, actually.”
“Ah, yes, Mary is fourteen,” he remembered now.
A pause stretched for a few seconds.
“God, you are a grandfather,” Douglas shook his head in quiet disbelief.
“For quite some time, yes,” Mike confirmed with a sympathetic look. Douglas could bet anything that Mike knew precisely which train of thought he was now hovering over; the same question yet unspoken hung heavily above them.
“How’s Emma?” he asked. The interest was quite genuine, he hadn’t seen his brother’s wife for a long time already.
“Fine, actually,” Mike leant against the back of the sofa with one arm. “Has just bred some new type of those predatory plants for her research. She tried to explain it to me, but, you know, botany,” Mike made a face at the last word, and the two brothers laughed at the shared joke.
“And Jim and Leslie?” Douglas asked after his nephew and his wife.
“Away on their second honey-moon, went to Norway this time,” Mike smiled fondly as his son and daughter-in-law were mentioned. “So the kids stay with us, obviously.”
“Obviously, yes,” Douglas echoed. A pause stretched again; both of them were aware that this was the moment in a conversation when the questions were to be returned. Mike sighed with an air of a person who had a difficult task ahead, and was set to go through it and help his partner along.
“You know we have to discuss this, Doug,” he began sympathetically. If he dropped half the façade he played as soon as the doors slid closed behind them, now he threw it away altogether, plunging headfirst in the uneasy topic.
“Do you think I don’t know?” Douglas retorted, suddenly angry. He was relieved that Mike would understand the anger was not directed at him. He gritted his teeth and ran a hand down the synthethizer absently, using the feeling as something to anchor himself.
“Seriously, though,” Mike continued, his voice unusually soft for someone who wasn’t familiar with this side of the man, “this boy. Isn’t he a bit too young for you?”
As if it wasn’t what he had been thinking the previous day, seeing Martin so damn juvenile in those clothes! Douglas sighed. He and Mike had been really close during their early years, and even though they drifted apart a bit as time went, they remained close enough to speak boldly and straight to the topic with each other, and that was probably the thing Douglas appreciated most about his brother: not having to feign anything, because one would easily see through the other one’s masks.
“He is,” he confessed tiredly after a pause. “He is not even bloody forty, Mike!”
“On the other hand, Laura and Helena are both, what, around forty now?” Mike mused. Douglas felt a pang of sorrow: that still hurt.
“At least Jennifer was my age, wasn’t she?” he automatically feigned a grin, remembering his first wife – the only one that hadn’t actually cheated on him. They both were around twenty when they married, and split up just after a couple of years, growing up and apart. They parted in good spirits and never saw each other again.
Mike gazed at him solemnly, and Douglas dropped the grin, walking over to the sofa and sitting down. Mike joined him several seconds later and placed his mug on the table as well.
“Listen, little brother,” he started earnestly yet gently, sounding as much like the man Martin met as a random passerby in the street, “obviously, I know next to nothing about the young man and your relationship-”
“There is hardly any relationship,” Douglas interrupted. Mike was probably the only person Douglas would ask advice of, and if he wanted the whole picture, he would have it. “I mean, not in the common sense, anyway,” he cringed: denying that there was anything sounded hypocritical even to his own ears.
“Ah, so you are ‘dancing’, I take it?” Mike inquired. Douglas smiled: his older brother was – again – the only one whom he had shared his ‘social dancing’ theory with back then.
“We are, yes,” he recalled a string of events they both went through, and gave another fond smile at the memory. “God, will I ever stop being this hopeless romantic.”
Mike took a sip of his coffee and shifted, “Doug, as your brother, I feel obliged to give you The Speech.”
Douglas rolled his eyes, “Maybe we could skip that part? I’ve heard it three times so far, the last two weren’t much different from the first.”
“Oh but this one will be different, at least in the subtext, and you know that.” ‘And you could use some support’ hung unspoken between them.
“It will be short, don’t worry,” Mike smiled. “And I’ll just state an old truth this time. The age difference might be a problem, granted. But anyway, if you two are that far into the dance – and you are quite far, am I right?” Douglas nodded once, wordlessly, staring at his hands clasped in his lap. “Then to hell with all the doubts. You look much better than you did the last few times,” Mike remarked.
Douglas recalled those last few times. The second-to-last visit was when Douglas was already suspecting Helena’s infidelity, the last one – when Mike helped him move his things to the new house. Yes, he definitely looked better now, so that was hardly an argument.
“And this man (Douglas noticed how Mike purposefully avoided the word ‘boy’ at the last moment), he definitely felt better when you did us honour with your presence today.”
Douglas smirked, “Maybe that was just because I finally saved him from your dreadful company.”
“Come on, you, for example, don’t find it that dreadful.”
“I’m used to having you around for the last fifty-two years, you know.”
“Anyway, I didn’t finish my speech,” the older man sobered again, his voice turning practical. “There is a question I am supposed to ask, and I will state it as boldly as I usually do. The problem is to come out. The homosexual thing, obviously, especially after your three very much heterosexual marriages, and also the ‘rob the cradle’ accusation – I am sorry, but people will see it like this,” Mike frowned sympathetically at Douglas’ flinch.
“So the question is, will you be ready for that?” he paused. “I am not asking if you ARE ready, because you obviously aren’t, but will you be? Not for the social part at first, no, but at least for admitting and accepting the whole thing yourself?”
Douglas stared at nothing, deep in thought.
“I don’t know,” he shook his head in desperation. “I don’t know.”
Mike chewed on his lip, contemplating.
“But do you want to?”
‘Do I want to?’ Martin and him, together. Just being together – Douglas’ mind didn’t go much further after that, it didn’t need to. He recalled Martin’s face, his expressions of annoyance, irritation, mischief – care, worry, affection; his eyes, the smell of his hair, the feel of his touch, the way their minds – souls, even – complimented each other, working together as one, be it work, play or whatever else. They hadn’t done anything more than kissing so far – and he could count the number of kisses on one hand – but he was fully willing to keep it that way, or even to go back to casual touches, to even simply being together in the most obvious sense – sitting in one cockpit, playing word games, irritating Carolyn. Whatever Martin would want it to be, whatever this would turn out like, he would take it and be grateful.
“Yes,” he replied confidently. “I absolutely do.”
Mike smiled widely in response.
* * *
“Maybe I’ll call you some time, we’ll go sit somewhere?” Mike asked as he finished tying his boots and stood up.
“Sure thing, if your mummy allows you to,” Douglas smirked. His brother shook his head in mocking disapproval.
“Low blow, little brother, low blow. I’ll ask Emma, anyway,” he feigned an exhausted sigh of a man being bossed around by his wife and shrugged on his coat. He noticed something and turned his head to a side, “Hello again, young man!” he exclaimed. Douglas looked in the same direction and saw Martin coming down the stairs a bit sheepishly.
“Hey,” he said and smiled, raising his arm to beckon him over. Martin neared them, trying to look at ease, but still nervous somewhat, stopping at arm’s length by Douglas’ side, facing Mike. Douglas guessed the younger man heard Mike preparing to leave, and felt obliged to say goodbye.
“Errm,” Martin started and shifted, “pleased to have met you,” he said and extended an arm for a handshake.
Mike watched him for a moment, then gave one of his most sincere smiles he wore around people, grasped his hand and shook it shortly and firmly. “The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, catching his gaze for a second. “Do attempt to stay around this twat for a while, hm?”
“Ah? Sure?” Martin answered in confusion, furrowing his brow slightly, but Mike had already released his hand, picked up the synthethizer and nodded at the door, shifting his gaze to Douglas.
“Care to help? A little tied up here.”
Douglas pulled the door open and stepped aside to let the other man out. “Cheers, Mike.”
“See you, boys!” he yelled without turning back and walked down the porch, heading to his car.
Douglas closed the door, shaking his head in amusement. “This berk.”
“Well, he didn’t seem too bad,” Martin’s brow was still furrowed, but he smirked easily, the ability to talk returning quickly.
“Didn’t he? I think he is just awful,” Douglas turned to face Martin.
“At least, you have much in common,” Martin now grinned openly, a hint of mischief showing in his eyes.
“Ah, so that’s what you are driving at.”
“Making you admit you are awful? Yes, that’s the thing. Absolutely terrific,” Martin joked, but quickly became concerned as Douglas’ smile faded slightly. “Is everything alright? I mean… You seem a bit… different now. Everything fine?”
Douglas looked down at the worried man and couldn’t help but smile, recalling his and Mike’s conversation. This brilliant, amazing, wonderful young man who was ridiculously attracted to someone as old and battered as Douglas, and he was almost ready to chicken out and give it all away? No way in hell. Mike was right, the bastard.
Douglas ran a hand up Martin’s arm lightly, then let it slide behind his shoulder and tugged him slightly towards himself, planting a small kiss in his hair and inhaling its warm scent. The only places where his body touched Martin’s were his crown and the back of his shoulder. Martin stiffened briefly, but relaxed almost immediately.
“Yes,” Douglas agreed. “Everything’s fine.”
He smiled once more against the soft curls, and Martin nuzzled up just a little bit, letting out a content sigh.
