Nocturne Studios

But it didn’t come to that, and he can relax and cradle his cup of coffee, he can make it last, while his thoughts set like sediment on the ground of his mind. The day was long, he isn’t sure if this is the right order.

He woke up that morning — the day before? Because it is well past midnight and he slept, so this is a tomorrow, maybe, but the night is ink black and the sky seems to know nothing of the sun, so this is not— Sebastian always was nocturnal. He always liked the liminality of it. The when-are-we-exactly feeling, like dust settling on sweat, clutching to the skin, dense and wet, neither cold nor warm, the in-between place of the day when most are asleep, but it always messed with his head, too.

He woke up, when last the sun was in the sky, today or yesterday, held tightly and well rested. He hadn’t dreamt that night — short-lived delights. He felt Angelo’s body before he could see it. He scented his worn-out cologne before he could form a coherent thought. His eyes were fluttering open, and Angelo was warm and hard and pressing against him in his sleep. It took a moment to remember the previous night, Angelo’s mouth driving him through his pleasure, Angelo’s wet chuckle a second before falling prey to slumber, Angelo’s sleepy eyes when he put on sweatpants to open to the delivery man, Angelo’s voice wishing him a good night that miraculously came, and while Sebastian’s mind was busy remembering, his body moved closer to his boyfriend.

He gathered himself nuzzling the crook of Angelo’s neck, relishing in the harshness of the hairs below his jaws. He felt conscience coming back into Angelo’s body, had the luxury to watch his eyes open for the first time that day and the pleasure to know his voice was the first thing he heard, too. A Good morning, a kiss, a moment to assess the situation. An apology, a laugh, another kiss and two sleepy bodies unwilling to disentangle from each other. Angelo’s erection pressing against his hip, a moan and barely enough time to say it’s okay, fingers digging in his back and sobs and sudden coldness when Angelo ran out crying— an Sebastian realized, for how much they lived through together, this was the first time he saw Angelo cry.

Apologies and attempts at reassurance, banging on the bathroom door, are you okay, what can I do, sorry, I’m so sorry, Sebastian made coffee and tried not to cry himself. They didn’t have much time to talk before Angelo was gone to work — and when he came back he carried a weight he did not name, and seemed wary of him. When Sebastian tried to apologize again, Angelo apologized back. They did not talk about it more. And Sebastian had replayed the scene a hundred times in his head already. When they settled in Angelo’s bed, Sebastian’s heart was so heavy it was sinking him down into the mattress— and yet it couldn’t keep him asleep for more than a couple hours, and now here he is, drinking coffee at almost five a.m. in a booth by the window.

No socks under his shoes, nothing but his sleeping shorts— he likes sleeping in his boxers better, usually. He knows why he didn’t. At least he didn’t run away half-naked.

He swore to himself he'd have on cup of coffee, nothing more. Now he grimaces, taking down the last sip, cold and bitter, and he has to keep his promise. To venture back into the night. To come back home, and try to sleep again, or find comfort in a sleeping face, in loving dogs. To smoke in Angelo's living room until his boyfriend emerges from sleep. His heart calmed down a bit, and he nods a few times, taking his empty cup and leaving it on the counter before slipping into the night streets.

.

The lights are on: Sebastian can see yellow lines piercing through Angelo’s bedroom blinds, and a rectangle of light cut neatly on the grass below the kitchen window.

It is not six yet; Angelo should be asleep. The dogs should be asleep, they shouldn’t run to Sebastian the moment he passes the gate, shouldn’t bark at him, break the eerie blanket of birds singing as dawn approaches, call for a light on the porch when Sebastian is still a few steps away. The door opens in a rash swing, a breathless figure obstructs the light from inside, disheveled and restless.

“Where were you?”

He shouldn’t be awake — Sebastian came back before the alarm was set to go off, he was careful— two arms wrap around his shoulders, he can’t touch the ground for a second.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Worry and weariness.

“I wasn’t gone that long, Ange—”

“Do you have any idea how worried—”

“I’m okay, it’s not that big—”

“—and what I thought might have—”

“Ange!”

Maybe it’s his tone, maybe it’s Apollo that separates them. Holding onto each other by the elbows, Sebastian catches his lover’s eyes. They gleam in the night.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re okay.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t take your phone.”

“I forgot. I left—”

“Where did you go?”

Angelo’s fingers on his arms are so tense they might bruise. This is not okay. Oh, oh, he fucked up again. He leads his lover inside, followed by the dogs. He closes the door. “Night Shift. I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

“Did you even think—”

“I had a nightmare. I panicked and I went out— so— I’m sorry I am— I wish I had taken my phone, I wish I left a not— but thinking back, I don’t really think I could have, so…”

“So I shouldn’t have… I thought you left.”

Their voices are stark in the artificial light. “You… sit down. I’ll make us coffee.”

The sky lights up slowly. It’s a strange and marveling process. From black to indigo to green hues. Breaths calming and apologies. None of them will go back to sleep. On his second cup of coffee, Angelo apologizes again. Sebastian doesn’t feel so bad anymore. The sun is rising, it is maybe a good time.

“It’s okay. We have some time till you have to go, now. And I wanted to talk to you, too.”

“About?”

“About sex. We gotta talk about it, while not horny.”

There is a scowl forming on Angelo’s lips again, and Sebastian loves him, he does, but he could punch him right now. He rolls his eyes instead. “Or we can never have sex again, for fear I might make you cry your lungs out again. This was scary, Ange.”

“It was… it was early, and… I got overwhelmed. That’s all.”

“Yeah, well, sex is kinda supposed to be overwhelming? And if we can’t differentiate good we’re-having-fun overwhelming from this-is-unbearable overwhelming, this is gonna be unpleasant for both of us, so we need to talk about it, boundaries and stuff.”

A frown, a scoff, something almost childish that makes fondness growl in the pit of Sebastian’s stomach. He likes the hand Angelo throws dismissively in the air, his pursed lips and raised eyebrows that scream that he is above sex talk. His tone is impetuous. “And ‘stuff’?”

“Yeah,” he lets his voice drag on the word, and Angelo’s petulant attitude is too funny not to feel playful. “And that’s a boundary by the way. A boundary of mine— I do not consent to having sex with you if we don’t talk about it first.”

“And the other night?”

“The other night was fucking great, and consent can be revoked at any time. Now if you don’t want to have this conversation…”

“You’ll leave.”

“What?” Sebastian coughs, choking on his saliva. Angelo’s tone was decisive. Certain. “What made you jump to that?”

“Well, you said you wouldn’t… engage in sex with me otherwise, so I have to guess this means—”

“Breaking up with you? Are you fucking for real?” Sebastian knew, he knew the first night there were some twisted knots in Angelo’s head that might need undoing— he wishes he had made himself clearer then, wishes they didn’t have to have this conversation at all. “You know I love you.”

For a moment, Angelo just stares at him. Mouth slightly open, eyes buzzing with questions. “What do you mean?”

“Take a wild guess, Ange.”

“If I cannot have this conversation… and we never have sex again… you would stay?”

“Yes.”

Another long stare. Sebastian stands firm. He is strong headed, and he needs all his will to convince his boyfriend that there isn’t a hint of doubt in his words.

“Oh.”

It’s small as a whimper. Angelo turns away, to grab his cup of coffee. He leans on the wall, stares at the porcelain while the dark liquid dances inside. “That is unexpected.”

Sebastian hates it, when his fears are right.

“Look, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to— but whoever etched in your brain that you should expect to be dumped for not having sex deserves a whole lot of kicks in the ass.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

Sebastian sighs, a bit too dramatically, and sits on the counter. The part closest to the wall, where Angelo is within reach. “It’s okay. I’m serious about the conversation thing, but we don’t have to do it right now. We don’t have to do it ever.”

“You really are something, Sebastian Fen.”

“I think you called it a genetic anomaly?”

It gets a chuckle out of Angelo’s lips, and the day grows brighter. The forecast said it would rain.

“And so how do we have this… conversation?”

“I can start with me, if you’d like? And you don’t— I tried some stuff, so I know my boundaries pretty well, but it’s normal if you don’t know your boundaries. ‘I don’t know’ is a legit way to feel about something.”

 A nod, a lull in the room, a long sip of coffee. There is no getting used to how piercing Angelo’s eyes are, Sebastian thinks. “I think I would like that, then. So, what should I know?”

It was easier on Sebastian to be focused on Angelo’s discomfort than to face his own, and when he looks down at his body, he can’t help but shrug. “Uhm, OK. So, I like… like, yeah, I told you I’m clitoridean, but I do like penetration, too, and I am pretty sensitive in general? My scars are—” He slides a finger on his left arm, jumps to his ribs. He can see the burnt tissue in his mind. “— more sensitive to pain than they are to pleasure, so not the best playground, actually. Surgery scars are fine, though. And, I use the word clitoridean, but I do not like referring to my genitalia with those terms. Clit feels weird and vulva and cunt make me full dysphoric so, uh, t-dick, or just dick is better.”

He dares look up from his lap. He meets Angelo’s gaze, and he is yet again taken aback by its intensity. “T-dick,”  is repeated in a velvet voice, tried for the first time on Angelo’s tongue, and like a studious child learning a new word, he uses it in a sentence, “I liked sucking your t-dick the other night,” and it is detached in the strangest way, a way that makes Sebastian hide his smile behind his hand immediately, cheek burning.

“Ah, yeah. Do you… do you have preferred terms?”

“I must say I never thought about it. But I always had an aversion for the word shaft.”

The smile turns into laughter at the disgust on the scientist’s face, and he takes notes. “Okay. We’ll figure it out. If you want. I mean, you said you liked my voice so…”

“So you figured I might be into dirty talking?”

“Something like that?”

“It’s… a fair guess.” Angelo shifts on his legs, moving from the wall and barely a bit closer to his lover. “We will have to try this.”

“… yeah.” It’s hard to keep his mouth dry under these eyes. “I like how you look at me—” isn’t what he meant to say, but it rings entirely too true, so he doesn’t take it back “— and I like… well, I tend to prefer being in control. I don’t… I don’t really enjoy the feeling of being taken over? If that makes sense? And, being surprised. It kinda… scares me. Like, if you were to pin me to the wall out of the blue, I would not react nicely. At all.”

“I… was not planning to do that.”

“Good. But if you wanted to pin me to the wall, or down on your bed, or on this kitchen counter… you could ask me. I am quite good at saying no when I don’t want something— and I am good at taking a no, too. I’m serious about this one, Ange. You can say no to me any time, any place, and it won’t ruin anything. Actually, saying no is really hot.”

It draws a line between Angelo’s brows, “I don’t see what you mean.”

“The more comfortable you are saying no, the more certain I can be you mean it when you say yes. That you will tell me what you want and don’t want. That you’re doing this because you want it— and thinking you’d want me as much as I want you… well that’s really, really hot.”

“I see.”

The room, too, is getting hot, the air and the stare and Sebastian’s fingers clutching the counter. “And what you said about… walls. And counters. I think I would be amenable to the idea.”

It sounds like an offer, and Sebastian had not planned for this conversation to go in such a direction. “You mean asking if you can—”

“I think if you were to pin me to the wall out of the blue, I wouldn’t mind a bit.”

Oh. Oh. It’s something else, a snake twirling in Sebastian’s stomach. “Shit, I wanna do it now.”

“You could. You can.”

Sebastian takes a long, deep breath in— a breath charged with Angelo’s shampoo and general proximity. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

“Right.”

“I think I’m clean, but I haven’t been tested in a while so, maybe lean on the safer side. I don’t know about you?”

“I am. My blood is checked regularly. And are you… if we were to have… unprotected intercourse—”

“If you were to fuck me raw, yes?”

Exhilarating— how Angelo Volta trips on his tongue, how his eyes go wide and then small and wide again, how elegantly he moves a hand in the air between them. He is blushing. He opens his mouth, with an air of hesitation, and Sebastian decides, maybe he can save him the trouble: “No, there wouldn’t be risks of pregnancy. Even before I started T, I was sterile, to be honest.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. We knew pretty early. I don’t… I don’t remember what they said. Just, complicated words ands tests and… yeah, well that’s beside the point. I don’t… really wanna talk about it. But, uhm… oh, yeah, have you heard of the traffic light system?”

“The… no, I haven’t.”

“It’s a safe word, of sorts. More nuanced. Green is go on, Orange is this is good but no further, Red is stop. And you can like. Just say the color, or ask ‘what color?’ when in doubt. If you’d want to use it.”

Angelo nods, and his coffee must have gone cold, now. He grimaces when he swallows the last sip. “Quite straight-forward, I like it.”

“Cool. Now I told you about me. Do you want me to know anything? How do you feel about… all that?”

Angelo puts his cup away, limping to the dishwasher. Porcelain clatters against porcelain. “I feel… a little confused. Curious. I know I want to do these things with you— but I do not know where to start.”

“You say these things. What things are you thinking of? Like, the first thing on your mind, don’t think, now!”

“The wall.”

It’s adorable, the way he dances around the words, the way he comes back to where he was a second before, between Sebastian and the wall, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. And his words from earlier still ring in Sebastian’s ears and maybe— maybe they talked enough. He wants to hear more about what Angelo desires. He wants Angelo. And it’s unfair, thinking he could do both at the same time. “Now?”

“Yes.”

A second to jump off the kitchen counter, a second to take the first step. A second to put his hands on Angelo’s hips, another to breath so so close to his lips. A second to take another step, to push his boyfriend with him— he uses little force but there is no resistance beneath his palms or against his chest, not when he presses Angelo against the wall, not when he takes his lips and pushes harder, clinging tighter. A second to taste and bite, a second to back away, to recognize the heavy-lidded gaze pinning him. “Was that okay?”

“Yes. I like it when you guide me.”

“Good.” He can’t suppress his smile, and feeling a shiver running down Angelo’s spine makes him lick his lips, almost unwillingly. “Anything else?”

“I like kissing you.”

And so Sebastian kisses him. He lets Angelo’s elbows settle on his shoulders, Angelo’s fingers in his hair. “Is that all?”

“No.” He can see Angelo swallowing. He wants to kiss his throat, his Adam’s apple while it bobs. “I would like—” a stutter, a hesitation.

“You would like?”

“Can this— not lead to sex, necessarily?”

“Of course.” The boundaries of what sex is, exactly— when does it start? When it involves genitalia? When you decide it starts? When you search for an orgasm? When you get undressed? There is no clear limit, they will have to figure it out on the fly. “I like that. Making out with you. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere.”

A nod.

“Then I think, right now, I want to make out with you.”