ot unbearable. Tom wondered what it would’ve been like, to be one of Uzoji’s men – what it would’ve been like on the Eqe Aqawe. He’d never seen Uzoji pilot the ship, but he’d seen him ask the mona to lift a tangle of heavy pipes. He remembered watching Aremu hang upside down from another set, limned with lanternlight, streaked with oil and holding a wrench in his mouth. Working quick, quiet-like, while Uzoji held everything up, held everything together long enough for him to work.
It’d always unsettled Tom, being honest. But he’d been the hired muscle; he’d been an outsider, looking in. He wondered what it would’ve been like, aboard the Eqe Aqawe. He wondered what kind of man he’d’ve been, if he’d known a trust like that.
Aremu said nothing more on it. He cupped Tom’s cheek with his hand and kissed him again, and Tom reckoned he knew what he meant. Somewhere in there, the words slipped by the wayside again. The whole world was the taste of Aremu’s lips and breath; the tide was rising again, and Tom leaned in and let it take him. There was no pretending he didn’t want him, not anymore. He could feel it in every limb.
But then Aremu drew back. You don’t have to tell me, he said. Tom couldn’t figure what he was talking about, at first; when his breath evened out, he still found himself thinking – did you ask something? And then the imbala was kissing him again, and Tom thought he might go further, this time, and he didn’t know he was ready, but he wanted him so much.
Aremu stopped, pulled away, and asked him a question.
It was a way in and a way out, both, depending on how you chose to take it. It was achingly graceful. He ran the pad of his thumb over Aremu’s cheekbone, looking from one dark eye to the other.
No, he could’ve said. He felt it, even now, spreading through him. He thought he felt it between them; he’d felt plenty of want in the press of Aremu’s lips, and the restraint – the delicate brush over his cheek, and no further – only made him want more. It’s not different, he could’ve said, simply. Coyly, even. Emptily. He thought he could’ve mustered up that boldness, for just long enough.
And what would it’ve been like, afterward?
Many things are different, he could’ve said. The question was broad enough, he could’ve said anything. It seemed an easier road to follow. He could’ve eased back from Aremu, still holding his hand, and talked until the want passed. With it came something that could’ve been mistaken for relief; it was more of a sinking feeling.
He didn’t have to say anything at all. Aremu had made that clear. As clear as he’d made it, once. It touched him again, deep, in a place that hurt.
Tom’s fingers followed Aremu’s cheekbone down, his fingertips lightly tracing his jaw. He remembered all of these shapes, but they were different, now, oes. His eyes went down, too. “Yes,” he said. “It’s very different.” He shut his eyes. “Some things, I’ve gotten used to. I know them well enough, now. I’m not as strong anymore. Everything takes a little more out of me. I have to think in ways I’d never’ve thought before. I have to be – more patient.”
The backs of his fingers grazed Aremu’s neck. He found the shape of his collarbone, and followed it, too, down. He laid his palm against Aremu’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of it through the linen.
“Some things, I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what I like, or what I can bear. I don’t know what it’s like until I feel it.” His voice was lower, with a rough edge. “Like being touched by a man.”
His heart was thundering; it felt like there was a sharp lodged in his chest. Opening his eyes was harder than anything he could’ve done with his hands. But he opened them, meeting Aremu’s eyes again – he let himself feel the current tingling through him.
He let it draw him closer to the imbala, haltingly, until their noses brushed and he had to shut his eyes again. One hand found the back of his head, running his fingers over his hair. He kissed the other man again on the lips, and murmured into him, “Is it too different for you?”