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Gelassenheit	By : Robofetus Category: +S through Z > Xenogears Views: 2991 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Xenogears, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Gelassenheit
- 1
I don’t own Xenogears and do not profit from this.

Gelassenheit

The sky was deep blue and darkening above him, the first few stars visible now in the east; Anchinus, the topmost star in the constellation of its same name, was especially bright and striking on this night. The air was frozen stiff—no wind or any movement, and absolutely quiet. Billy had sneaked out of his bunk to come and see this twilight falling; lights-out had been declared early by both Fei and Sigurd, since they planned to embark hours before dawn the next day. Their ship was resting below-ground at Nisan's secret dock, and although they were always welcome, the decision had been made for no one to enter the city tonight, to spare what was left of the already weary town the burden of accommodating them. But Billy alone had left the ship, unnoticed.

He did not, however, enter the city.

He left the ship, and the dock, and the troubled mountain town asleep behind him, carrying only one pistol, and came outside so that he wouldn’t have to lie in bed, awake. He was sitting quietly there on the snow, breathing slow and deep, watching the earliest stars appear while the sun sank low behind him, only a sliver of it above the horizon now. The snow was not very deep, and was unspoiled except for the places where his own boot-prints were, and the air was dry and thin. He had always liked the bristly, sweet taste of it after new snow. It was calming, and seemed almost cleansing, after a manner of speaking. It had fallen very recently, perhaps only yesterday, over the long, low hills of grasses, and he wondered if it was deeper farther away from the town…and if maybe he should have worn a heavier coat.

The land in this place, at least, was mostly unaffected by the terrible awakening of the Monster.

He was out here because it was a ridiculous hour to turn in. His mind wouldn't allow him to rest so early. It was working idly, unbidden, flitting distractedly over many things at once. He was thinking of his father, and the strange way his voice sounded when they'd killed Bishop Stone together out on the open water. Of the cruel feel of metal, the heavy and fierce grace of guns and Gears, and how the recoil of the ether gun felt different than the kick of his revolver or even his shotgun in his arms, just at the fleshy part of his shoulder…

Small things, really. Nothing that was really important.

Maybe he was a little tired, after all, he thought as these things crossed his mind. Certainly, he had fought hard all day. There had been many encounters, already, with Angels, and Wels seemed to be coming at them from all directions. His limbs actually felt weak—his whole arm had trembled earlier when he'd held a glass of water—just from riding his Gear so much. (It frightened him how accustomed he was to using it, even the first time, immediately after it had changed…it looked alien in its new form, but felt just as natural as wearing his own dusty old shoes…) Part of the armor over the right shoulder was damaged and needed to be replaced. There was a small hole worn in one of his leather pistol-holsters, and he would have to disassemble and clean his shotgun soon—should have done it earlier. (He was beginning to think that he might need reading glasses…)

His mind was working over too many things. And even if he were tired, which he finally admitted he was, there would be no sleep for him just now. It was a great comfort now to have silence, at least, and solitude, for the first time in as long as he could remember. He'd been busy for loud and lonely ages, and had only gotten busier and busier. And now, he was going to get up very early in the morning tomorrow, and go to the place where God was. And kill Him there.

He shook his head to try and clear it. Was it really only force of habit…?

It just didn't sit well with him. This brittle murmur of disquiet…could it be just anxiety? Or was this uneasy feeling really only because he was accustomed to show deference to God, and still couldn't stand for open defiance of his Lord?

It was a different feeling, now, than he had ever gotten from learning the sacred teachings, or spreading the word of God, or doing the things that he had been taught were the Lord's work. Every time he tried to puzzle it out, pulling up each identifiable thought and emotion and lining them up to be inspected each in turn, the meaning of the only one he struggled for would always seem to steal away. And not only the reason for it, but the feeling itself would seem to vanish, leaving him in a slippery, dull sort of mental fog. He was disoriented.

It wasn’t the feeling of disdain he had felt in years past toward nonbelievers, or whores, or drunks, or criminals. This feeling of betrayal, that something was treacherous, that something was blasphemous…it was overpowering, and he was entirely unaccustomed to it.

//*PHIFFF*//

It startled him to death.

Cold, cold, cold and wet, crashing into the back of his neck like a warship at full tilt—it was as if he were being murdered. He recognized it belatedly as snow only after he’d un-holstered his revolver, and he put it back, still too stunned to speak, and certainly too stunned to be angry yet.

"Hey, you."

He recognized the voice, and although he was still very surprised, he wasn't frightened. "Bart?" he squeaked, forcing his strangely ticklish nerves to settle down, and reaching back to brush off the melting s

"Yeah, it's me. It's just not right to go to sleep at five o'clock. I was trying to find you because I know you like to stay up late, like me. Thought we could play cards or something."

Billy turned to look at his friend, and sighed.

"And so in order to get me to play cards with you, you hit me with a snowball?" He finished brushing off the snow as best he could, grudgingly muttering, "You do have a pretty good throwing arm, that’s for sure, even if you don’t have an ounce of sense."

Billy didn't mention that he'd never learned to play cards very well, and not at all until he'd joined Fei’s group. He had always disapproved of games that promoted gambling in any way. But now, all his concept of good and ill was turned outside in, and he was left with the feeling that anything harmless was permissible, now that there was no Law. He was suddenly feeling a little too cold, and almost shivered.

Bart continued without replying, "Didn't think you'd actually be outside the ship. I know you know it's dangerous to go out on your own."

"I'm armed," he replied, quietly and a little blankly.

"Aw, you probably shower with your guns. Anyway, what are you doing way the hell out here? You weren't watching the sun set." The taller boy moved from where he stood behind Billy and sat down beside him, on his left.

"Just thinking."

"Well, you look like you've been sleepwalking. What were you thinking about that made you look so retarded?" He shifted, settling himself on the hard, snowy ground, then, "It’s the fight tomorrow, right?"

Billy shrugged. "I guess so," he said, and tried to smile a little, looking down at his right hand on the snow. "How did you figure I'd be out here?"

"’Cos you weren’t on the ship."

"There was this one time, when Margie and I were kids here in Nisan, and we wandered off during the night to go to a place by the lake behind the cathedral. It was summer, so it was a lot warmer than right now. We were real little then; Margie was only five or six, but she’d insisted she had a secret to show me and we had to sneak out at night to see it. So, I let her lead me out there, over a mile from home, without permission, weaving on and off the pathway, and just more or less horsing around like kids. She ended up leading me back and forth along the edge ‘til I couldn’t tell which way I was facing. And then, all of a sudden, she just stopped. And she said, "Here it is," and pointed at the water.

"I was about ready to box her ears for leading me out there for nothing. The place we were at was just the same as any other place on the lake. We’d even passed by it before, that same night, at least once. But then, all of a sudden, I just got it. I understood what she meant. And even though it’s been several years since then, I remember what I saw there very clearly."

"What was it? You saw God?" asked Billy, feeling unusually nervous.

Bart shrugged. "No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I guess there isn’t any way to really describe it. It was just the same old lake, right over there. Same one I’d seen a thousand times. Hell, there’s no way not to see it, if you’re anywhere near Nisan. You’ve seen that part of it up close, too. But it was… just so fucking beautiful. And huge. And we were just a couple of little kids there, scampering around on the edge of it. The water was completely still, and glassy, and so smooth it looked like someone’d flattened the creases out with a rolling pin. It looked like a big, black mirror, and the stars and moon were reflected in it perfectly.

"Of course, it was too quiet for me, and out of obligation, I picked up a few good flat rocks and skipped them. But something about that lake just seemed so fucking enormous, and the sky with all those stars was even bigger, and…I dunno. I’m sounding like a moron here. But I just felt really small, I guess, and really…lucky. I felt like I was being let in on a great secret. Like the lake and the sky were too big for me to understand, but there was something even bigger, too big to even imagine, and somehow right then I was able to see it. And it was just right. And that’s all."

"…That’s all?"

"Yeah."

"But what in the world do you mean?" pleaded Billy, rubbing at his brow with one hand, truly exasperated now. He was waiting for something, and it was becoming clear to him that it wouldn’t come, that Bart could not deliver it. He abandoned his watch of his bootlaces and looked up toward his friend, al des despairing.

//*PHIFFF*//

This one hit him straight in the face, and he fell backward a little, cing ing himself with his hands just in time to keep from falling down completely.

"C’mon. I’ll show you." Bart declared, triumphant and already on his feet as Billy sputtered out snow and wiped off his face. He stood up on shaky knees and steadied himself, annoyed—no, incensed, but realizing to his astonishment that a snowball in the face had been exactly what he’d needed.

He felt…better. And he had to admit to himself again what he’d known for some time now, what had been proven to him again and again since the day he’d first joined with this band of heroes on their bizarre pilgrimage—that Bartholomew Fatima is a hell of a guy, and there was no way around it.

"You coming, or what?"

Billy shook his head and walked toward his friend, fully aware that the trip would be long and cold, and was an altogether idiotic idea. They might not get back to the ship until the small hours of the morning, if they spent more than an hour or two behind the mountain, and they’d get hardly any sleep before the fight. Billy knew this, and considered it for a few moments as he walked, but recognized very quickly that he didn’t really give a damn.

Bart was slightly ahead of him, and so Billy hurried up to walk by his side, and matched his pace all the way around the lake. They walked very near the edge of the water bordering Nisan proper, skirting along the perimeter, making their way back behind the single, small mountain. The modest houses that lined the road were actually much farther back than they looked from a distance, and almost all of them had been abandoned now—the people had moved in to the city itself for care and to be closer to their fellows in their hour of distress. There werelamplamps to guide them, but the path was wide and clear, and remarkably well-kept, although covered now with snow. And as the darkness of night grew heavier and deeper, the snow all around them seemed to glow in the starlight. They would have been in no danger of getting lost, even if Bart hadn’t been a navigational genius, and Billy felt himself relaxing more and more.

The lake, of course, had been completely frozen over for probably more than a month. Billy had never seen it this way, and he was pleased by the view. When they eventually came around the back, they could see that it had a great deal less snow on it here, not even a quarter inch.

"Well, whadd’ya think?"

Billy gazed all around, seeing the dusting of snow on the evergreens, and the dozens of bushes along the shore, without their leaves now—bundles of twigs stabbing up from the ground, dotted along the edge of the water in odd places. There were some lower areas, dips in the earth, where there were tall grasses and cattails, brown and broken and bent from wind and cold, and these seemed to have collected a bit more snow than the trees or shrubs. The ice was a dull and milky grey under the waxing moon, with parts that were whiter because a little more snow had blown there. A few large, sharp rocks broke above the surface of it, near the shallower areas, and there were also some boulders of various sizes on shore.

And the mountain seemed colossal, black and dreadful in the night, thrusting up from the middle of the lake like one huge, straight tusk. The night was so clear that he could even see some of its narrow crags shooting crookedly up along the face of the rock, although there weren’t very many. (Aside from these, the rock was mostly a sheer, sharp diagonal all around—a near-perfect cone, except in front.) He noticed that there was some snow on the mountaintop, too.

"It’s beautiful," Billy admitted, not looking away.

He was surprised when Bart spoke, because he was standing closer to him than he’d realized.

"Margie used to say it looked like a great big party hat from this side," huckluckled, his head tilted up to look at the peak.

Billy realized that the last time he was here, he’d managed to walk by without looking at anything, which now seemed shameful. He tried to imagine this place on a summer night, as Bart had described, with the moon reflected on the smooth surface of the water and the same pale starlight, the scent of grasses and fresh water, and the feel of warm wind blowing gently from the east. He wondered what the birds would sound like, and the insects; it didn’t seem that anything at all was living here, that he was utterly alone with Bart. And his hands were freezing.

"I only wish we could stay longer," Billy commented, although in his mind he was thinking of returning to the ship where it was warm. He rubbed his hands together.

"Aw, we got time. C’mon! I bet the ice is two feet thick."

"Bart? What…"

All of a sudden, his right hand was rudely grabbed, and Billy was dragged, dumbfounded and half-stumbling onto the surface of the lake.

The ice was very, very slick. He scrambled to keep from slipping, but had to depend on Bart’s sure footing in the end. The older boy caught hold of him firmly and held him up until he could steady himself.

"Haven’t you ever gone ice skating, Billy?"

"What? No. And we don’t have skates. This…"

"…is gonna be a helluva lot of fun! We don’t need no stinking skates, don’t be a sissy. I’ll show you how."

Bart let go of Billy’s shoulders and backed up a few steps, and demonstrated what he meant, sliding around crazily, appearing reckless and out of control but never falling. However, Billy didn’t think it looked like so much fun, and wondered if it would be impolite to try walkwalk back to shore.

But Bart would have none of that. He slid straight up to Billy and grabbed his right hand again, pulling Billy at a pretty good speed, willing or not, behind him. Billy struggled with his feet, and succeeded in keeping them flat against the ice, sliding just behinder ber boy, grabbing part of his vest with his left hand and bowing this way and that to keep his balance. He squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed he wouldn’t break any bones before this was over. He felt Bart pick up his hand by the wrist and remove it from his clothing.

"Oh, open your eyes already, for fuck’s sake. I won’t just let you drop."

He cracked open an eyelid, saw only a blur of grey, and then opened the other eye. They were slowing down, and Bart was facing him, holding him by the right hand and left wrist, grinning like a fool and holding one of his feet out and down in a way to slow and stop them. His legs were bent at the knee, and he was completely relaxed as they came to a graceful halt. Billy blinked.

"I’m not dead?"

"Oh, don’t shit me. It couldn’t’ve been that bad. You don’t have a scratch on you! Are you afraid of a little ice?"

"Petrified. Can we go back now?"

"Ha! Fat fricking chance! After we trudged all the way out here? Fuck no!"

"Bart, it’s cold. And we have to get up early."

"Are you trying to start a fight?" Bart squeezed his hand and wrist tighter, and suddenly Billy realized that he wasn’t going to let go.

"Bart…"

"Relax your legs first. Your knees are too stiff."

Billy sighed.

"All right, all right. But if I slip and break my neck…"

"Didn’t I say I wouldn’t let you fall? Now bend your goddamn knees a little."

Billy did, and he saw Bart preparing to move backwards, so he put one foot in front of his other and slid forward toward him. Bart moved blessedly slow, holding Billy’s eyes to reassure him that he was watching carefully in case he needed help.

"Now put your other foot in front, quicker than last time, and just let yourself slide forward. I won’t let go; don’t worry."

Billy concentrated on Bart, tried not to think of the ice or the mountain or the darkness or anything else. He was surprised to find it wasn’t difficult. He moved his right hand to grab Bart’s wrist and held tight, then moved his left foot forward and slid along with it, then his other, maintaining eye contact with the other boy.

"That’s good. Now go faster."

He listened to Bart’s half-whispered commands and followed them, and the two friends ‘skated’ around for a while, laughing at themselves every so often. Billy began to watch his feet, and after a few minutes, it didn’t seem difficult at all to keep his balance. Bart kept hold of his wrists as promised, and he held back, but he felt he didn’t really depend on that so much now that he’d gotten the hang of it. He wasn’t cold anymore. And in all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.

Which is why he wasn’t angry when he fell.

nbspnbsp;

Ironically, it was Bart’s fault. Since he was facing backwards, he couldn’t watch where he was going, and since Billy was watching his own feet, he couldn’t see it either. And even if they had been looking out for it, it still would have been difficult to spot. As there were some sharp rocks standing in the water in shallower areas, so also there were a few of them deeper, and there just so happened to be a large stalagmite-like rock right where they were skating. All of it was underwater except for the smallest part of its very tip. It stuck up just high enough to trip Bart, who was pitched back hard on his back. They’d been moving too quickly; Billy couldn’t stop himself from falling right down on top of his companion. They slid on Bart’s back for some distance before they came to rest.

They lied there like that for a few seconds while their brains caught up with their bodies and figured out what had happened. They’d been moving in circles, more or less, and Billy was a little dizzy.

Bart said, "Oof."

"Are you all right?" Billy asked, raising himself slightly up on one arm to peer down at Bart, who, to his astonishment, was smiling.

"Yeah. You? Here I promised I wouldn’t let you fall, and I’m the big dope that lands on his ass."

"I’m fine," said Billy, and smiled back. He sort of felt like laughing, but didn’t. When he realized that he wasn’t getting up, he was puzzled. He couldn’t figure out why.

But he still didn’t move. They both just stayed there like that, not even speaking, for several minutes. Billy felt peculiar; he was wondering why his hands were warm, and then remembered he’d been holding Bart’s wrists with them. But he wasn’t cold anywhere at all—he felt warm, and…unusually contented.

"Billy?"

When he heard his name, he became aware that his eyes had fallen shut, and he opened them. He watched as Bart raised his right hand up, with un-Bart-like timidness, and touched the side of his face. He kept his eyes open while Bart craned his neck and shoulders up and kissed him, slow and shy and warm like summer…

And he felt like he was being swallowed up.

And all of a sudden, he got it.

He leaned down deeper into the kiss, letting Bart relax backward, and he put a hand behind his head so he wouldn’t have to rest it right against the ice. His eyes were closed again now, but he felt Bart’s other hand reach his neck and slide back behind it, trying to pull and hold him even closer. His hands were very warm except for the fingertips, which were ice-cold, but Billy didn’t mind. Bart’s mouth, if nothing else, was hot.

He began to trace his fingers over and over Bart’s cheek, right under the eye patch, experiencing a strange and welcome winding-down feeling, as if he’d been spinning through the air like a bullet and was only now able to rest, only here out on the silent ice. Soon, though, he felt Bart’s tongue withdraw from his mouth. He tried desperately to follow it with his own, but Bart broke away.

He opened his eyes and caught his breath. Bart was looking up at him like he was lost, in exactly the same way he earlier had looked out at the stars…looked at him just as if he were looking up at the sky. His eye was absolutely the bluest thing that Billy had ever seen.

"…Hey, Billy?"

"Yeah?"

"Is…this all right?" Bart asked, and he put his hands on either side of the other boy’s neck, and Billy felt something overwhelming. He didn’t know if he was going to cry, or laugh, or faint.

As it turned out, he sneezed. He was able to turn his head and cover it with his wrist, but he still felt terribly impolite.

"Excuse me," he said.

Bart’s laugh rang out rich and thick; even the air around them seemed surprised by it. Billy slid off Bart and sat up on his knees, and Bart came up partway with him, leaning back on his hands. He was apparently uninjured from the fall.

"God bless you! Are you cold?"

"You aren’t?"

"Well, I can’t feel my ass anymore, if that counts."

"I think it does," Billy said, thinking of a warm bed near a heating vent. "Shouldn’t we go back?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Bart stood up. Billy looked up at him, and it occurred to him for the first time that he wasn’t even wearing a coat, just tame ame old red vest that he always wore. When he held out a hand, Billy took it and also got to his feet. He slipped a little, but caught himself and didn’t fall. He took a step forward and kissed Bart again, briefly, on the corner of the mouth. Bart smiled at him, and they began to leave together.

They made their way carefully off the ice, hand in hand until they reached shore, at which point Bart immediately threw an arm around Billy’s neck. He felt a little awkward, but was grateful for the warmth, and clumsily looped an arm around Bart’s back in reciprocation.

"So, that’s it? That’s why you believe in God?" he asked as he walked by Bart’s side, still marveling that there could be such a sweet and simple answer to a question that had practically boiled him alive for so long.

"Eh, well, yeah. That’s more or less it. It’s hard to explain, but I get the feeling you understand." He paused to take a breath, and looked up again at the night sky, almost wistfully. "I don’t know even what God really is, if he’s a spirit, or some kind of a force, or what the shit. I only know that there must be something older than this planet, older than the world of the people who crash-landed here. And it’s made sure that even though all these awful things have happened, people still keep on living. I’ve always believed in God. And there’s no reason to think that ugly thing sticking out of the ground is him, and I’m looking forward to kicking its rotten ass tomorrow." He turned his head to face his friend. "And I don’t buy it at all that you don’t believe in God, Billy. I know that you do."

"Yeah. I think I do understand now. Thanks, for showing me."

"Don’t mention it," Bart said, grinning and rubbing his knuckles into Billy’s scalp.

Even though it wasn’t with grandiose ceremony in a high-ceilinged building, with incense and candlelight and the solemnity of sacrament, Billy was satisfied with the way it had happened. He didn’t know if he could call himself religious, but he was sure that he had faith; in himself, and in God, and in his friends. It didn’t matter if he didn’t have all the answers; he didn’t really need any. There would always be nights, like this, and winters, and loved ones—worthwhile things. If he could live, and be with them, nothing else was of much consequence. Tomorrow there would be no question who would win the battle. The outcome was as clear as if it had already come to pass.

Billy leaned into Bart a little closer than he needed to, and they followed their own footprints in the snow back along the path. Bart began to whistle. Billy found that he couldn’t stop smiling.

Still, the walk back seemed much longer than the walk to the lake had been. But when they arrived underground on the metal walkway that lead to the place where the Yggdrasil was docked, it was only a little past midnight.

Bart, behind Billy, suddenly stopped walking and stepped backward. Billy stopped also, and felt arms wrap snugly around his waist. He leaned back into the embrace.

"It’s a lot warmer down here, isn’t it? Do they always heat this place?"

"Search me," Bart answered, and Billy felt him shrug his shoulders. "Nobody ever tells me anything. It might just be because it’s out of the wind."

Bart’s lips closed over the side of Billy’s neck, softly, and he tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He placed both his hands on top of Bart’s, and feeling him step backwards, he followed. Bart seemed to rest his back against the rail of the walkway, and Billy leaned back against his chest. He was kind of sleepy.

He could feel Bart’s fingers clenching and unclenching over the front of his shirt, felt his breath heavier on his neck as Bart kissed it again and again, moving from the side to the back of it, licking the skin over his vertebrae. He heard himself make a very soft, strange whimpering sound. He almost wanted to feel nervous, but for some reason he couldn’t.

He’d certainly never done anything like this before.

When Bart slid a hand underneath the fabric of his shirt though, he did whimper. He ran it over the warm skin there while his other hand pushed the back of Billy’s collar away to kiss further down his neck.

"Is this alright?" Bart asked again, and Billy bit his tongue to keep from moaning.

He nodded.

"I can…touch you?"

"Yeah." Billy held his breath.

Bart moved one of his hands and touched Billy’s neck with it, on the side where he’d started kissing him, rubbing his thumb back and forth just underneath his ear. Billy wanted to turn around, taste Bart again, but he also wanted to stay still and feel the way he was being touched.

And he also wanted to do…this…in a warmer and less uncomfortable place.

"Bart, don’t you think…ah. That we should go back inside the ship?"

"Where do you want to go?" Bart answered, squeezing Billy a little tighter around the waist.

"Not to the communal bunks."

Bart chuckled; Billy felt it against his neck. "Good call. If you want to go to someplace where we could…lay down, we could go to one of the empty guestrooms below the gun room."

"Sounds cozy. Let’s go there."

"Turn around."

He did, Bar Bart wrapped his arms comfortably around the small of Billy’s back and kissed him slowly—almost languidly, brushing his tongue across his top, then his bottom lip, then back inside his mouth. When he finally pulled back, he was smiling. Then he turned, and Billy followed him, and they walked together toward the ship.

They climbed down the ladder into the ship, rode the elevator down to the main deck, walked to the Gun room and then down its spiral staircase. Bart said he had to get something, and Billy entered the dark guestroom and sat on the bed and waited for him. He didn’t turn the light on; he hadn’t closed the door, and the dim red nighttime lights from outside the room were enough to see with. The warmth of the indoors was still almost startling, but it was nice. He felt very calm and satisfied. He let himself fall backward, so he was lying sideways on the wit with his feet on the floor. He closed his eyes.

"Comfy?" asked Bart, and Billy looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe, in silhouette before the glowing red lights.

"Yeah."

Bart walked in and closed the door behind him, then came up near the bed and turned on a small reading lamp.

"Aren’t you gonna take your boots off?" Bart asked, placing one knee on the bed and beginning to untie his own shoes. Billy sat up and leaned over to follow his example. Then he took off his scarf and coat.

"What did you get?"

"Lube."

"Oh," Billy said, and bit his tongue.

"You know, you’re blushing. We don’t have to…you know. Well…I mean, y’know. But it’s in my vest pocket just in case."

"Your vest only has a million pockets," Billy pointed out, lying back down.

"Har, har. I know where it is." Bart finished taking off his vest, then got up and stood in front of the other boy’s knees. Apparently in deep concentration, he took his belt off, then crawled onto the bed on all fours over the younger boy. He sat down on Billy’s pelvis with his k res resting on either side of his hips. Then he placed both his hands on top of Billy’s, resting on the mattress at either side of his head, and began to slowly stroke the small, soft palms with his longer and rougher fingers. After a few long seconds, he said, "Kiss me again?"

Billy took his hands out from underneath Bart’s, and reached up, and placed them on the sides of Bart’s collarbone. Bart lowered himself down politely until the other was able to reach his mouth, and he let himself relax fully onto Billy as they kissed.

It began as a patient and sincere sort of movement, affectionate in a friendly way, or lazy, or drunken. Bart opened his lips over Billy’s and let them stay there for a while, not exactly touching yet and barely moving, then pressed them down easily a few times, giving him kisses that made the sort of noises you’d expect kisses to make, only a little bit slower and quieter. Then, all at once, he came down firm and hot on Billy’s mouth, sweeping his tongue briefly over Billy’s and then withdrawing, then dipping back again. Billy reeled, and kissed back as best he knew how, thrown off guard by the sudden intimacy. He didn’t know or care if he was doing it right. He pushed into Bart’s mouth in sleepy reciprocation, and swallowed around Bart’s tongue, smoothing his fingers over and over along the taller boy’s neck, dazed and happy.

Bart, though, was experiencing none of Billy’s languor. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself from moving, squirming on top of Billy, running his hands feverishly up and down his sides, in his hair, along his jaw and chin and face—but always gentle. And, most notably, he seemed to possess the astonishing ability to kiss and smile at the same time.

Billy opened his eyes, suddenly struck by this: although it was very late, and they had both walked a long distance in the bitter cold, twice, Bart was just as tireless and indomitable as he always was. His breathing—no, all his movements—were at once relaxed and excited. Blearily, Billy marveled at Bart’s energy, the lissome, devil-maye vie vitality of him. There was nothing about Bart that wasn’t alive, that wasn’t overflowing with life. And the life in him was implacable, fathomless; it was what it meant to truly be alive—carnal and sinuous, heavy like hard rain on the boughs of fruit trees, belligerent, dangerous and self-sure, as necessary as sand in desert. It was something…something about him, ever-changing and immutable at the same time, an insatiate abundance, hard and strong and wet and hot…

…Beautiful.

Billy tensed up suddenly, all over, and clawed desperately at the buttons of his shirt, seized by an unexpected rush of trembling heat, feeling much more awake now. He was relieved when he realized that Bart was helping him remove the garment. There was a hunger in his body, welling up from the deepest parts of him and spreading all ovthatthat had gone unacknowledged all his life. Now it felt like it would rip him to pieces and claw its own way out. The familiar, long-ingrained impulse to swallow it back was jarringly absent. He never thought the sensations of his own body could be so frightening. So frighteningly good.

He felt himself being pushed slightly farther backward onto the mattress, and Bart had his shirt and vest off, and it occurred to him that he should pull his own arms out of his sleeves. He did.

&nbs

Billy felt Bart’s tongue slide slow along his adam’s apple, and he choked trying to make a noise. He stopped breathing altogether when he felt fingers lightly pinching at his nipple, and arched his back dramatically, even lifting Bart with him a little.

"Billy. Unclench. It’s all right." Bart’s voice was peaceful and honest, as he trly rly smoothed his hands up and down Billy’s sides, waiting for him to calm down.

Billy let out a long sigh.

"It just feels too good when you…touch me," he admitted, shivering a little. "And it’s hard for my body to get used to understanding that this is permissible."

"I guess I didn’t think about that," Bart answered, and every part of him seemed to pause right where it was. "Is this too soon for you?"

"No, no! It’s perfect. I just wish it were easier to…"

"…Relax?"

"Yeah." Billy smiled.

"Maybe I can help. Try imagining me in my underwear."

The act of laughing, Billy immediately realized, was actually a very effective way to start relaxing. Bart laughed, too, a little, and crawled farther on the bed so he was directly over Billy again. He laid his right hand down softly on Billy’s cheek, and moved it a few times over the skin there.

"It feels good when I touch you?" he asked.

Billy’s eyes shut of their own will, and he inhaled sharply, nodding. Bart seemed like he was about to say something else, but his breath caught, and he dropped down only aly and kissed him hungrily. Billy responded in earnest, with an almost embarrassingly high-pitchoan,oan, meeting the older boy’s tongue with his own and moving his hand to touch the top of the long braid behind his head.

Minutes passed, and the two stayed soundly locked together, rocking unconsciously against one another, sharing breath and heat and saliva. Billy was completely enraptured with Bart—with the way he moved, the way he felt, the way he tasted—he was breathless urgency, barely-restrained and beginning to moan, unashamed, very obviously excited and very obviously hard. He couldn’t help himself. He needed this badly, all of it.

"Bart!" he almost shouted, "clothes!needneed…mph."

The taller boy didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea of ending their kiss, and he immediately started it again, cutting Billy off. Billy wasn’t offended. But it did seem that Bart registered some understanding of what Billy had meant, because he removed one of his hands from Billy’s hair and used it to unfasten his own pants. Realizing, though, that he’d have to sit up a little in order to take them off, he soon relinquished Billy’s mouth and sat up on his knees.

Both boys were almost completely out of breath. Billy scooted back and drew his knees up and tried to calm down. Bart very quickly took off his chaps, then his pants and undergarments.

Billy couldn’t move.

"Billy? You in there? Want some help?" Bart asked, hesitating, kneeling on the bed.

"You…"

"What’s wrong?"

Billy took a breath, shaking his head. "You look…incredible."

Bart smiled, almost looking modest, and crawled forward and sat down with his legs crossed on the mattress in t oft of Billy. Then he kissed him on the mouth, briefly, and drew back.

"You know, you’re not so bad yourself."

This time Billy smiled, and steeled himself for the unusualness of becoming naked in front of another person, and then slid his pants and undershorts down and off at the same time. He pusthemthem to the far side of the bed.

"Maybe…we should lay down lengthwise on the bed. It would probably be more comfortable," Billy suggested.

"All right," answered Bart, not moving, staring at Billy.

After a few very long seconds, Billy realized that if either of them was going to move, ease this tightness, it was going to have to be him, because Bart was apparently frozen in place. He decided that he didn’t want to lie down, because it didn’t seem like Bart was going to. And he only wanted to be where Bart was.

He got up and walked on his knees, and sat down on Bart, wrapping his arms and legs around him and sitting upright in his lap. Bart snapped suddenly back into fulnscinsciousness, and looked up and down at Billy, astonished. Then he groaned breathily and closed his eye, and looped his arms around Billy’s waist.

It felt strange to Billy, now to be higher up than the other boy, when he was used to being the shorter one. He looked down and watched as Bart slowly rested his forehead against his chest. Without moving his head, Bart began to slowly kiss the top of his stomach. Billy sighed.

And when Bart touched him, wrapping his long, warm fingers around his dripping erection and stroking it slowly, all he could do was sigh again. He wanted to be absolutely still, just feel Bart’s easy and unguarded movement; he wanted to let everything else go and just understand what it was to be touched, just let this wonderful thing happen, whatever it was.

Well, he knew what it was.

"This is…good," Billy whispered, and meant it with all his heart.

Bart looked up at him, slowly caressing the small of his back with his other hand.

"I’m gonna get my vest. Is…that okay?"

Billy nodded.

Bart had to reach a long way; he’d tossed his vest down somewhere near the pillow, and he had to lean over quite a bit to get to it. Billy sat up on his knees again and scooted away, to give the other boy some room. With the vest retrieved, Bart sat back up with his knees together, and proved to Billy once and for all that he did, in fact, remember which of his million pockets he’d put the lube in.

Billy was quiet as he watched Bart pour a generous amount of oil over his fingers, and moved closer and straddled Bart, still up on his knees, and parted his legs. In some corner of his mind, he was just a little surprised that he wasn’t nervous, but he didn’t dwell on it.

Bart pushed his middle finger inside, still rubbing up and down the younger boy’s length with his left hand. Billy’s throat sort of tried to hiccup, but he didn’t make any other noise…and it didn’t feel unpleasant to him, really, just a little strange. It was an unusual thing to get used to, but when Bart moved his fingers, as effortlessly as any part of him would ever have moved in any situation, he relaxed again and smiled. It was starting to feel nice, and if he didn’t think about how strange it was, just focused on the touch and nothing else—it felt unbelievably good.

Bart slipped a second finger inside. There was a hitch in his breath, and Billy realized that the boy underneath him must be making a great effort to restrain himself from acting more aggressively. He ran his hands over Bart’s shoulderblades in what he hoped was a reassuring and apolic wic way. He started when he felt wide strips of raised skin, recognizing them right aas sas scar tissue, and remembered that Bart had been tortured. It seemed terrible, but somehow irrelevant now, and…very far away. Billy found that it was impossible for him to think about pain.

He might ask about it later, if later he could think of what it wa wan wanted to ask, but for now he just put it out of his mind. Bart’s fingers began to move rhythmically inside him, unsteady, but absolutely cautious and very slow. Billy’s body felt hypersensitive all over, and the double stimulation he was receiving was almost too much. He thought that he would be completely overtaken by sensation, until there was nothing left of him. He swallowed.

"You’re lookin’ a little dazed, Billy…you still with me?"

"Right here," he answered, a little more breathlessly than he’d meant to.

"Are you ready now, or you need a little longer?"

"It’s all right."

"Sure?”

Billy smiled and shrugged, and Bart smiled back brilliantly, and picked up the little bottle of oil from the bedspread beside him. Seeing the other boy shift, Billy moved backwards and sat on his heels.

"Wan"Want to do the honors, or should I?" Bart asked, folding his legs in front of him, Indian-style.

Billy chuckled and held out his hand, saying, "I think you’d better leave the anointing to the priest." Bart nodded tooktook Billy’s palm, shaking some of the oil out into it.

Billy drew closer and carefully brought his hand over Bart’s penis and let the excess fluid drip onto it, then wrapped his hand around it and rubbed the oil all over the skin. Bart closed his eye and let his mouth hang open, but didn’t make a sound.

While Bart’s eye was still closed, Billy inched closer to the other boy, and sat on him again as he had earlier, with his legs wrapped around him. His legs were hooked around Bart so that his feet were behind the other boy’s back. He held Bart’s cock in a loose fist, and positioned them both so that Bart’s cock pressed against him in the place where he knew it needo goo go. Determinedly, he pushed the very tip of it inside of himself, and then began to lower himself down.

Bart kept his eye shut, but gave a low, hoarse moan as he sank inside the other boy. Billy paused halfway; the penetration was uncomfortable, and felt very…odd. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep, fortifying breath, and prepared himself for more discomfort.

Hands ghosting soothingly over the sides of his hips helped check Billy’s nervousness, and he relaxed his legs and eased himself down. Bart was working hard at keeping completely still, and was succeeding admirably, although he was sweating and almost panting from the strain.

Billy opened his eyes, and saw that Bart was carefully watching his face for some indication of what to do next. Billy didn’t exactly know himself, but he had an idea, so he guessed at the answer. He nodded.

Very slowly, Bart rolled his hips up, pushing deeper inside. Billy gasped. Bart was inside him, that wild and inexhaustible well of impetuousness was in him now, thrumming with life and heat on the inside of his body.

Billy pushed his heels diagonally down so that he got leverage from the bed, and used this to raise himself up a little ways just as Bart was drawing himself back again. His head was swimming. Bart continued to rock gently underneath him, but he couldn’t help out very much or very often with the movement, because his legs felt unusually weak. He took to just rocking in place, rubbing his erection against the soft skin of Bart’s belly.

Bart groaned suddenly, and very loudly, and Billy removed his hands from behind Bart’s back and smoothed them over the sides of his face. The boy underneath him looked up and met his eyes, face tense with arousal but still smiling with his eye, then threw his arms around Billy’s middle and squeezed him tightly. The rocking of his hips continued, moving Billy along with him now so the other boy didn’t need to help as much with the motion.

Billy was completely overwhelmed; he was reduced to silence. He was in a world of white hot pleasure that he never knew about before, disjointed, suspended in the air, in and all around him. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was too much for him to see. He was lost in the warmth and the movement and urgency, the slow current of unstoppable desire. In a way, he felt like he was sort of transparent, like the rhythm he was engaged in with Bart would have to have gone on even if he weren’t there, and he was only a thin window for this sweet energy to show itself through.

Feeling a driving need for more of this motion, Billy placed his hands behind him and braced them on Bart’s knees, and used them to push himself up and dow tim time with Bart’s quickening strokes. He found that it was easier to do this with his arms than with his legs. Bart was openly panting now, with his eye snapped tightly shut and his brow furrowed, biting his lower lip and holding onto Billy’s waist.

Billy thought he heard his name whispered to him, but he couldn’t be sure. And all at once, orgasm came over him without warning, and the recoil knocked him backwards; he thought his whole body was going tight and slack at the same time. He arched helplessly and tossed his head back, and his mouth opened to yell, but didn’t really make a noise—just a shallow, reedy gasp as he coated Bart’s chest with hot semen. With one last, weak thrust, Bart followed him, shivering, and he did yell, but not too loudly. He gripped Billy’s hips almost painfully as he released inside of him, then sighed deeply and let go.

Billy took a moment just to breathe, try to get used to the way things like weight and gravity worked again. Then he looked down at Bart, who was looking right back up at him, and they both smiled. The physical mechanics of the universe didn’t seem so impossible to Billy anymore, and he felt happy, and comfortable, and very tired.

"Penny for your thoughts," Bart said.

"I think…that was amazing." Billy found Bart’s hands on the sides of his hips, and took them gently in his. "I had no idea…I…well, just…thanks."

"Don’t mention it."

Billy sighed and kissed the top of Bart’s head, then climbed out of his lap and stood up beside the bed and stretched, lazily. Bart got uo, ao, and took one of the pillowcases off of its pillow and wiped Billy’s come off of his chest. Then he turned it inside out, and handed it to Billy.

After cleaning off, both boys put their underclothes back on, turned out the lamp, and climbed under the blankets together. Even Bart, it seemed, was finally exhausted—he yawned hugely as soon as he laid down.

"We’re getting to sleep awfully late. Do you think we might be…too tired in the morning?"

"Nah. We’ll be all right. It’ll only make things worse if you worry." Bart didn’t open his eye when he answered.

Billy found himself trusting that Bart was right, and he felt the easy calm of the other boy spreading to him. He smiled in the darkness. He’d worked hard that day, and his body was fatigued, but he didn’t feel worn out—just the satisfying sort of tiredness that comes from healthy exertion. And even though he would only get four, maybe five hours of sleep at the most before going to battle with Deus, he honestly wasn’t worried. He heard the way Bart was breathing next to him, and knew that he was already deeply sleeping. He shut his own eyes, and settled down, preparing to drop off to sleep. But first…

"Thanks," he said out loud again, quiet and sincere. And with that, he closed his eyes and slept.

Author's email: hephestus0@juno.com
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