Stronger Than Lions - 8. The Coup

The next thing it was much brighter in the room and Chris was standing over me with a mug of coffee in his hand.

‘Wakey wakey!’ he half-sang, putting down the coffee on the nightstand.

I yawned and rubbed my eyes.

‘Hey.’

For a moment I thought I’d been dreaming about him spooning me, until I saw he was still wearing his baby blue boxers. Had he woken up and realised?

I sipped the coffee, wincing at how sweet it was. ‘When did you get up?’

He flopped down on the bed. ‘About two hours ago. I thought I’d let you sleep in. How’s the hangover?’

The events of the night reformed in my brain. ‘Actually quite good,’ I said, rubbing my head.

‘First rule of drinking,’ he said, smiling and drawing his legs towards his chest. ‘Well, the second. The first is never drive. But yeah, a litre of water and some headache tablets before you hit the hay.’

He stretched out a hand for the remote and started channel hopping. It made me smile, the way he was lying there casually, tugging at a lock of hair behind his ear and just being Chris. Little domestic exchanges had been piling up between us since we'd met. They were nothing special by themselves, but over a few months they’d weaved themselves into a little security blanket of memories: the way he’d chew his pencil in deep thought when I was explaining some equation to him, or the way he’d reach out and steady me when I picked up a dumbbell I’d underestimated.

The weekend would be the longest the two of us had ever spent alone in each other’s company. I usually got cabin fever after just a day on holiday with my family. All I wanted now was for it to start pissing down with rain, for there to be flash floods and mudslides, for the roads to be closed so that we wouldn’t be able to leave this place for a whole week.

We made breakfast. Chris fried up some eggs and I fussed with the bacon, trying to get it crispy to the point of disintegration.

‘Anything you want to do today?’ he asked through mouthfuls. We’d slopped everything onto a big tray and it looked like a prehistoric landscape: the eggs were pools of molten sulphur, the bacon strips lava trails from a burnt-out volcano, the scattered slices of toast exposed strata from an earthquake.

‘I could just sit by the lake and chill all day.’

‘Sounds excellent, bru.’ He poured himself a big glass of orange juice and gulped it down. ‘I wanna sit on my ass and read. I'm nearly a hundred pages into this book I found.’

‘What book?’

‘East of Eden. Isn’t that where your name comes from?’

I was taken aback. ‘That’s right. Where did you find it?’

‘Found it on one of the bookshelves. You said this was all your grandpa’s stuff your uncle inherited? Dude was quite a collector. There’s a whole herd of Steinbecks. And a whole lot of other authors whose names I can’t pronounce.’

He wiped his hands and went inside, returning with the book. It was a hardcover, and still had its cellophane-wrapped dust jacket in very good condition.

I opened it. My grandfather’s elaborate signature was spread like an inky albatross across the inside cover. Beneath it he’d written MCMLII. Intrigued, I paged to the frontispiece. Below the title and author credit it read: “Viking Press” and “1952”.

‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘This is a first edition. I think the one in my house is just a random paperback. ’

‘Really?’ said Chris. ‘I shouldn’t then. It must be worth a lot!’

‘Help yourself. My grandpa hated the idea of books being collected just for the sake of collecting. I think every book in those shelves has been read. Definitely the ones he put a Roman date in, it was his way of marking things. Are you enjoying it?’

He put the book down carefully. ‘It’s dense, bru. But awesome. He describes things and places like you've jumped in a time machine and lived there yourself. Like, I always thought California was just surfing and Hollywood and massive highways and shit.' He became more animated. 'It’s so clever, like, the way he uses the story of Cain and Abel to link the characters. And there’s this Cathy woman who’s an evil bitch. I can’t stop wanting to find out about more of the shit she stirs up.’

‘I've heard she's awful, yes.’

‘You haven’t read it?’

‘I tried to, when I was like ten, and it went over my head.’

‘Well, you should try it again. If I can get the themes you certainly will,’ he said with a shit-eating grin.

* * *

After breakfast we remembered Uncle Joe’s snag list. Chris was in his element, inspecting trip switches and water pipes and even hoisted himself into the rafters to check out the geyser. After about two hours we were sweaty and hungry, so we made sandwiches and set out for the lake.

There was a little clearing halfway up the shore from the jetty where we set up our impromptu picnic. We wolfed down the sandwiches and spent an hour or so swimming in the lake and sunning ourselves by the shore, until it was too hot and we relocated to a spot on the soft grass underneath the trees.

The sun trekked across us slowly and managed to steal through my bit of shade. I moved my towel next to where Chris had retreated, deeply engrossed in the book, his back against the a tree. He had a large bag of boiled sweets next to him and was absent-mindedly stuffing one into his mouth every few minutes.

I lay down a few inches beside him and closed my eyes. There was no sound except for the quiet lap-lap-lapping of the lake and birdsong above us.

I felt warmth on my left shoulder, and thought it was another ray of sunlight peeking through the foliage. I opened an eye and saw it was Chris’s hand moving down to find the bag of Fruit Sparkles that was between us.

Except his hand had stopped on my elbow and stayed there.

I didn’t say anything. He was reading intently and quite unaware. His thumb started making small circles around my bicep. I closed my eyes again and stifled a groan. He didn't notice. His hand remained, massaging my arm.

I let out a little moan when his hand started tickling the inside of my forearm.

His hand stopped moving. I opened my eyes. Chris stared at me, frozen, his eyes wide.

‘Shit. Sorry, bru!’

‘It’s okay,’ I said slowly. He moved to pull his hand away, but I stopped it and caught it in mine.

He looked up at me, lost for words, his mouth half-open.

I raised myself up and leaned in close to him.

I still don’t know where I got the courage from. Maybe my heart had finally had enough. Maybe it had staged a coup in my brain, bound and gagged all its ministers of logic, and given the armed forces of my hormones the go-ahead to mount an insurrection.

I squeezed his hand. ‘Dude. I said it’s okay,’

Wide-eyed, and opening his mouth a little more, he fixed his green irises on me.

‘Caleb,’ he said in a low whisper, and tightened his grip around my hand.

‘Christopher.’ I placed my other hand on top of his.

Then he drew me in and kissed me. He tasted of blackcurrant and cola. I inhaled the clean scent of his T-shirt and his cologne and I shuddered as I felt our stubble brush against each other’s cheeks. There was no jostling of tongues—it was a long, slow, gentle thing, a kiss that sighed, searched, afraid of itself even as it yearned to erupt into something more.

When our lips parted eventually his hands were still cupping my face. He stared at me, his expression half-afraid, half-hopeful.

‘Did that just happen?’ he said, his voice high and crackly.

I stared back at him.

‘Cal? Say something. Please.’

‘Something.’

And then slowly, very slowly, I smiled.

'Bloody hell,' he said, trailing his hands down and squeezing my shoulders. 'You fuckin' scared me for a moment.'

Like two magnets brought together, our lips connected again. There was heavy breathing and fumbling now as our hands explored each other’s hair, necks, chests. He lost his balance trying to get his hand under my shirt and toppled backwards. I collapsed on top of him, laughing and panting.

‘Hey,’ he said, pawing at me as I raised myself up on my elbows. 'I've been wanting to do this for a while.'

‘Hey yourself. Maybe I’ve been waiting do to that as well.’

His eyes were moist. ‘Really? You too?'

'Isn't it obvious?' I said, a little exasperated. 'What part of me just kissing you enthusiastically back don't you understand, you dork?'

He took a few deep breaths and looked bashful. 'Fuck, bru… I'm gonna say it. I think I’m in love with you.’ He wiped sweat off his face, sweat that hadn't been there a moment ago.

He squeezed his eyes shut. ’Oh God, I said it.'

I brought a tentative hand to his golden mane. 'You said it. And maybe I feel the same, too.'

He opened one eye. '‘Seriously? You’re… you’re not freaked out?’

‘No,’ I said evenly. 'I don't know why, but I'm not. How long though?'

'How long is what?' he asked, tilting his head to the side.

'How long is your dick? No, you idiot, how long have you felt this way?'

He went red and then let out a nervous little giggle. 'Cal, you fuckin' tease. I guess it's been... weeks? Possibly months?'

I traced my thumb over his forehead. 'Tell me more.'

'Like, I couldn't stop thinking of you pretty much after you came to my house and we hung out by the pool that night. But clearly I've been too chickenshit to, to....hey, why are you asking all the questions? Your turn, bru.'

'Fair.' I looked away. 'This is going to sound so fucking cheesy, but I pretty much fell for you when you fixed my bike. Maybe I like a man who works with his hands.'

He sniggered and put an arm around me. I rested my head on his shoulder.

'I didn't know you liked guys,' I said, berating myself immediately for perpetuating stereotypes.

'I've never been against the idea,' he said philosophically. 'I might have had some fantasies, but I just hadn't given it much thought. It's pretty clear I definitely like at least one guy now.'

'Are we the same person?' I said in disbelief.

We stared out at the lake and the mountains for a few moments, listening to the breeze and each other's breathing.

‘So,' he said eventually. 'Do you want to talk about this more?’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered, stroking his forehead again. ‘But I do want you to take your shirt off.’

‘Yes Captain,’ he said, sitting bolt upright and flinging off his tee.

We made out under the tree for what seemed like forever. Just the previous evening we’d happily been swimming naked together. Now as we kissed, both of us stayed in our shorts, too nervous to wander anywhere below each other’s bellybuttons. As we tumbled around on the grass I felt the bulge in his shorts brush against me. I gave him a curious smile and he blushed.

‘Um,’ he said, squinting, uncomfortable. ‘There’s that. Is it freaking you out?’

‘Not unless this is,’ I said, and shifted myself so that my own wood pressed against him.

‘Definitely not,' he said, leaning in to give me a peck on the cheek. But neither of us made any attempt to trail a hand below the other's waist. Instead, I put my head down on his smooth chest. There were fine golden hairs on his pecs, gradually gaining in number at the base of his sternum to form the beginnings of a garden path leading down to his waist. He smelled wonderful, of cedar and citrus and the very gentle muskiness that was unmistakably just Chris.

A zephyr teased the tops of the trees. ‘Where do we go from here though?’ I asked, now a little anxious. 'I mean, now that we've come clean with each other.'

He blew out his cheeks. ‘I dunno. I guess we’ll just have to figure it out as we go along?’

I wanted to say something profound. Instead my mouth decided to disconnect itself from my brain.

‘I mean, I didn’t think you were going to bend me over right here and fuck my brains out immediately.’

I covered my mouth, shocked. Chris burst out laughing, every block of his abs pulsing. There were eight, not six of them. And they were mine.

‘Jeez, bru,' he said, panting, 'I wouldn’t dare do that. Much as part of me might like to do...certain things to you.'

'Oh really? What sort of things?'

'Never you mind,' he said with a gleam in his eyes. 'It would be wrong, right now.’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘I mean, you’re too fuckin’ special, Cal. You deserve to be… what’s the word… courted. You deserve to be fuckin' courted. That's exactly what I'm going to do with my first friggin' boyfriend, if I may be so bold to say that.' He reached across and ruffled my hair.

In that moment, the totality of what had just happened undid me. I grabbed him, grabbed him tight, and buried my face in his chest. I was rocked in the rhythm of his breathing as he wrapped his arms around me in reflex. It may be true that it was 3:42 pm on a Thursday in March, that the Southern Hemisphere was about to enter its autumnal equinox, that we were 452 metres above sea level and breathing in 21% oxygen, that multicellular life had been on the planet for 600 million years, and that the sun shining down on us was converting over four million metric tons of mass to energy every second—but as far as I could tell, the universe was comprised of only me and him holding onto each other and the soft sweet sensation of falling, slowly falling, down an unending shaft of starlight.