Two men stood underneath a dark sky, watching the smog from the city below them and the shine of the lake. It was a dark pool, like water or oil in the darkness.
Vincent was holding a bottle of beer.
"Do you want a taste?"
"No thanks."
"Right, I forgot that you don't drink."
Raymond didn't drink. He didn't appreciate being made to feel like a teetotaller either, or straightedge, or whatever was behind Vincent's smile. It was because Vincent had the habit that he didn't indulge in it himself. Otherwise, there would be no one to take care of him.
"Congrats on paying Timmy off again. That makes it, what, three hundred thousand dollars so far? Seven hundred thousand left to go." Vincent took a sip. He let the bottle dangle from his hand, down from the balcony onto the street below. "You can stop anytime you want, I won't be mad."
It's not like you have to do this, anyway. The words hung unspoken between them. When Raymond turned his head, he couldn't meet Vincent's eyes.
The man who'd saved him. The man who brought him back to life.
I lived because of you. So, I'll live for you.
For you, I'll do anything.
That was what he thought back then, but didn't have the courage to say. Even now, he still couldn't say them. but there was a new feeling too.
I love you.
"You feel like you owe me, right?" Vincent laughed, taking his silence to mean it. "That's too bad."
Raymond could only stand there, feeling his body heat and the centimetres between them. When Vincent turned his head, his eyes were burning.
"Seriously, take a sip. You'll like it."
"Okay."
It was beer. There was nothing else about it. It just tasted like beer.
Raymond took the bottle and didn't give it back. As if Vincent thought he was playing around, he got into his personal space and tried to grab it, jostling their limbs together.
The bottle dropped from his hand. The glass rolled from the balcony to the railing, before Vincent stopped it with his foot.
"That's dangerous," he said. It could've fallen down and hit someone.
"Sorry." Raymond bent down and picked it up. The beer had splashed onto the floor.
Vincent shrugged. "No big deal."
He was right. They stood together, leaning against the balcony in companionable silence. A gust of wind ruffled through Raymond's hair, carrying the warm, balmy summer night.
Out of the corner of his vision, Vincent spoke again.
"You know, I'm nicer when I'm drunk."
Then he leaned forward and kissed him.
What Raymond heard was, It doesn't mean anything.
Actually, it was Raymond's first kiss. Decades on this earth, and this was the first and only time.
It lasted shorter than it felt, and it felt better than he expected. He'd thought of it enough times at night, alone in his room, staring shamefully at the ceiling and trying not to see Vincent in his mind.
But mostly, it was just the press of two peoples lips on each other for a second.
"Yeah," Vincent said when he pulled back, "I'm definitely nicer when I'm drunk."
Raymond blinked. Dazed.
Vincent grabbed his shoulder. "Was that your first time? No way. You're serious."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Raymond choked out.
"No, obviously. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything else. A shame, though. You've really become a catch, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"
"I avoid mirrors."
"Well, there's no need to."
Somehow, Vincent seemed stone-cold sober.
"Do you want to try losing your virginity?" He was still gripping Raymond's shoulder, as if he couldn't let go.
It was such an unlikely, preposterous, impossible, insane thing to say that he must've heard wrong. Raymond was too afraid to ask Vincent to repeat it again.
"Yes?" he said, which came out like a question.
Vincent seemed to take it that way too.
"If you don't want to, then forget it."
"No, I do. I do want to, if you mean it." Raymond swallowed. "With the two of us or someone else?"
It wasn't out of the realm of possibility for Vincent to call up a prostitute for him. Raymond was afraid he really did mean it that way.
"Do you see anyone in the room with us?"
"No."
The air was very warm. Neither of them could each other in the eye.
Vincent raised one hand between them. "Let me get one thing clear. When you've thought about having sex, do you imagine yourself as the pitcher or catcher?"
"Uh," Raymond said. "Pitcher."
Something in Vincent's face seemed to clear up. He smiled slightly.
"Me too. I’d suggest we flip a coin, but since it's your first time, I'm inclined to be generous." He slapped Raymond on the back, making him stumble forward into the railing. "I'll go use your bathroom, and in the meantime, you can sit on the bed or something."
"Wait."
"What?"
Vincent was halfway through the door. Raymond said, "Are you sure you're not too drunk?"
He gave him a look. "You're such a good person."
Then he was gone. Raymond went to go sit on the bed.
When Vincent came back, he had a towel wrapped around his hips and that was all he wore. He was holding a bottle of cooking oil.
Raymond felt like he might vomit from the nerves.
"Do you have lube?" Vincent asked.
"Why would I have lube."
"Exactly what I expected to hear from you." He shook the oil. "That's why I took this from your kitchen."
He sat down on the bed next to Raymond.
For Raymond, the reality of what they were doing had finally hit him. He couldn't even say if they were friends, not confidently, so what did this make them?
He'd wanted to be someone special to Vincent but this felt more like a last meal or putting down a dog. Taking him out back with a bowl of milk before the bullet to the head.
It might also be his only chance.
They kissed again. Raymond couldn't tell who started it. Since he didn't know how to kiss, he pressed their lips together and stayed there like that.
Vincent tilted his head. Then it was suddenly softer and wetter and warmer, and Raymond's brain didn't know how to process it. Belatedly, he realized that Vincent didn't even taste like beer.
Raymond didn't know what sort of expression he was making, only that it made Vincent huff out a laugh.
"Not bad."
He pushed Raymond down on the bed. Once more, another kiss. Vincent had his hands in Raymond's hair. It was a weird sensation that made Raymond's bones feel loose when Vincent pulled.
"Hey."
"What, you don't like it?"
Raymond couldn't say anything. Vincent pulled his hair again, and he groaned. He pressed his lips together to silence himself.
Vincent propped himself up on one elbow, then rolled over. "Get the oil," he said.
Raymond got the oil.
Vincent's bare back was right in front of him. His eyes didn't dare go lower. His mind decided to ask if this was a good idea, but unfortunately, it was too late.
If if he didn't do anything, Vincent wouldn't either, because this was like a test. Vincent wanted to see what he'd do.
When he glanced down, the back of Vincent's neck was red. Raymond took a deep breath.
Before he could realize that he was doing it, he poured oil on his fingers and winced at the sensation. It was slippery and uncomfortable.
In theory, he understood how this worked. You got your fingers slicked up with oil and stuck them in. You massaged the insides until they were loose, and then you could stuck your dick in too.
Only, Raymond never expected it'd be possible for him to do it. He never dreamed of having a chance to try. With someone like Vincent... someone he liked...
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Vincent reached back and slapped him on the arm. "So hurry up and do it already." His brow was furrowed. He was more tense than Raymond had seen him before.
With a start, he realized he wasn't the only one nervous. Of course.
Raymond thought, That's it? Was the kissing enough? Trying not to look, he reached down and prodded Vincent.
"You're really tense. Can you try to relax?" he mumbled. "What do you usually do when you're having sex?"
"Oh, you mean before I fuck them?"
There was a pensive silence. Vincent let out a loud sigh.
"Just keep going."
Before long, Vincent’s back was not looking as tense as before. He seemed to have settled into the bed and was breathing hard into a pillow.
"Can I take my fingers out now?"
Vincent made a disparaging noise and nodded. "Yeah."
As Raymond pushed inside of him, his mind was static.
Vincent groaned. He did too.
It was more than he’d ever dreamed of. More than he could hope for. He had half a mind to roll over and let Vincent fuck him, but Vincent had offered first. He’d let Raymond do it to him.
There wasn’t any other way to say it, only that it felt really good.
He wanted Vincent to like it, so he leaned over and kissed him. Vincent turned his head and responded.
The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room.
Afterwards, they lay on the bed. Next to him, Vincent turned over so they faced each other.
Raymond thought he'd say something like, Bet you had a great time, or Congratulations, you're no longer a virgin.
Except Vincent didn't say that. He spoke so quietly that Raymond wasn’t sure if he heard him. If it was really what he said.
"I needed someone who would fight for me. Who'd be on my side. Someone with nothing to lose and that’s why he’ll do anything to win."
Because I’m desperate, Raymond heard. Because I have nowhere else to go.
"You saved my life," he said. "It’s yours."
"That's not what I wanted to hear," Vincent said. "It doesn't exist."
What did a relationship look like, anyway? Since Raymond couldn’t answer that, even to himself, he couldn’t say anything.
He couldn’t tell Vincent that he loved him, even though it was true. All he could do was stay by his side, no matter what.
Raymond clasped his hand and squeezed. Vincent squeezed back.