ook at me, Aremu said. He couldn’t look away, at first; it was as if the weight of his eyes were what was holding the bridge up, and if he looked away –
But he did, after a moment; the dizziness that rushed up almost made him stumble, as if all they’d climbed in the last few minutes had caught up with him. He met Aremu’s eyes, glittering, dark except for the whites. His eyelashes were thick and dark in the low light, and the shadows underneath his cheekbones were deep. He was used to seeing him at this angle, but it was jarring just now, all the same.
The water slopped below in the quiet. Hold onto me, Aremu said, and the gentle stroke of his thumb wasn’t enough at first; he was all seized up with fear. He felt a low burn of shame – he could never seem to help it, the way it came over him sudden like this, the dizziness and terror – but Aremu kissed him gently, and he couldn’t seem to focus on all those things at once, so he held the other man’s hand instead.
When he kissed him again, it was deeper, and he answered in kind. There was no looking down, then; there was no thinking of anything.
With his eyes shut, there was nothing but darkness and breath between them.
The memories mixed, heady, in his mind. Aremu took one step back, then another, balanced and strong as a sapling; the wind ruffled their amel’iwe and tugged at the hems around their ankles, but the smell of stagnant water was distant to the smell of him and the warmth of his breath. His eyes were shut now, his nose just brushing Aremu’s.
He had his other hand on Aremu’s right shoulder, he realized. It had gone there almost reflexively. He followed Aremu, breathing in and out – reflexively, too – on the step; Aremu’s left foot, his right. One, two, three, he found himself counting in his head, in some distant galdor’s voice; one, two, three.
He smiled. Every line of him was tight with it, but slowly relaxing. Suddenly he couldn’t separate the sharp ache of fear in his stomach from the thrill of having the other man close, the tug of desire. It all mingled together into something else, something new but familiar at its bones. They moved across, one quiet, creaking step at a time, and he kept his fingers knit with Aremu’s and his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“Eyo’ziq i’xupo,” he murmured, thick-voiced, on the other side. He kissed Aremu this time, slow and soft, and when he came away, he was laughing breathlessly.
They came into the shadow of a balcony, an empty doorway with its door hanging half off the hinges, a floor scattered with glass that glittered in the light that leaked in. It crunched under the soles of their sandals. He breathed heavily, though he’d opened his eyes and looked around.
It was empty, except for a glass-windowed nook that must’ve been an office once. A blue light leaked out of it. However long it’d been here, the phosphor lamp – half shaded – was still glowing softly.
Without the great swath of empty air and the water below, he was suddenly sharply aware of Aremu pressed up against him. Of the lean, hard muscles of his chest, of his right shoulder underneath his hand. Aremu was still holding his hand. He got the strangest desire to find the knife again, to – disarm him – he eased himself away from the imagining, and a little away from Aremu too, though he couldn’t quite bring the two of them apart.
“Uh –” He swallowed dryly, blinking. “Thank you,” he said, grinning slowly. His voice managed not to break, but there was a hoarse edge to it.
How close are we? he knew better than to ask. I can wait, he didn’t have to say; this is a damn good way to wait. I trust you, he said with his hand, sliding off Aremu’s shoulder. Show me the way, he said, squeezing Aremu’s hand.