2001

Chapter 22

2001

* * *

"...[T]he giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard." – JK Rowling, Harvard Commencement Address, June 2008¹

* * *

Charlie led the way into the empty lift car and moved to the rear, Sasha a step behind him. They both turned and stood shoulder to shoulder as more people filed in after them, decked out in various styles of dress robes that often denoted their nationalities. The International Magizoology Colloquium, held this year in Kathmandu, Nepal, had attracted hundreds of attendees from all over the world, and nearly a dozen of them now pressed into the cramped space of the hotel lift.

"Seven," Sasha said, joining the chorus of riders announcing their floors to the magical mechanism that drove the car.

Charlie didn't mind the crowd too awfully, though. A lift ride was always short, and any excuse to press a little closer to Sasha was a welcome one. As interesting as that evening's keynote speaker had been, his attention had largely been captured by the devastatingly handsome Russian seated beside him at the dinner table, rather than an account of the latest attempts to domesticate Occamies (a noble effort, considering wild ones' silver-shelled eggs were being poached at extinction-threatening levels). Then, as now, the scent of Sasha filled Charlie's nostrils, the warmth of his body radiated through him as if his partner were a miniature bipedal sun. Little flashes of fantasy mingled with memory in Charlie's mind, tantalizing inspiration for what might come to pass later when they were alone.

Charlie and Sasha had been invited by the IMC's organizers to present their multi-year longitudinal study of Norbert(a)'s fostering experience as recently published in the Annals of the Magical Reptilian Research Society. Now nine years old, Norbert was due to make her third mating flight later that summer and had managed to produce three healthy, thriving Ridgies in the meanwhile – the first completely human-fostered and subsequently wild-released dragon on record to do so. She was also a grandmum: her first clutch had produced a single female egg, and NR-1996-e had produced a little female of her own, NR-2000-j. And while neither Charlie nor Sasha particularly enjoyed public speaking much, the invitation to travel to such an exotic locale and participate in such an illustrious conference (all expenses paid!) and brag about their draconian pride and joy was simply too great a temptation to pass up.

Professional prestige and scientific study were the furthest things from Charlie's mind at the moment, however. As the lift rose, stopping at nearly every floor, their fellow passengers disembarked in singles or in pairs, leaving those remaining to redistribute themselves and acquire more personal space. Charlie pointedly yet surreptitiously made no such adjustment – counting on the crowd ignoring whatever was behind them – and caught a hint of a wicked, knowing smile from beside him.

"Is an Occamy the same thing as a nāga?" a young black witch whose brightly patterned dress marked her as Central African, piped up in English, offering the question to anyone who would answer.²

When no one else responded, Sasha kindly explained, "There are many similarities between the two creatures, but an Occamy is entirely feathered, whereas a nāga is scaled."

"And a nāga can swim as well as fly," Charlie added. "It's considered a Fire-Breathing Basilisk. An Occamy isn't capable of either swimming or flame." He wondered for a passing moment how Dr. Merlin Miller's research on the genetic relatedness of extant draconian creatures was going – he hadn't heard from the fellow or seen anything published by him since he'd left Ridgebit last autumn. The evolutionary relatedness of the two species sounded like just the sort of thing he'd be interested in, though.

The young woman's brow furrowed thoughtfully as if she were trying to picture the two animals, and she nodded slightly.

"If you'd like to learn more, the best place to start is Ganguly's Magical Bestiary of the Indian Subcontinent," Sasha offered.

"Excellent illustrations in the new third edition," Charlie concurred, noting with mild surprise that his English had picked up a faint Romanian accent. He wondered if his Romanian had done the opposite and finally lost its Anglo-clunkiness.

"Thank you very much, gentlemen," the witch said with a smile and a polite tilt of her head. "I will surely do as you recommend."

By the time they reached the seventh floor, Charlie began to wonder if the scrumptious Newari cuisine he'd filled his belly with at every meal for the past three days contained some form of aphrodisiac, and might it have a cumulative effect? Having grown increasingly horny throughout the lift ride, for no good reason he could determine other than his proximity to Sasha in an enclosed space, he struggled to smother the urge to reach out and touch him. His partner's arse was practically magnetic at the moment.

Or maybe it's a Pavlovian response, Charlie mused, watching Sasha shoulder his way past the remaining passengers when the lift had reached their floor. Each of the past three nights had been spent going at it like they had during their first summer spent together in old keeper hut number eight. And now that all the conference activities had finished for the evening... He followed a step behind his partner, politely bidding the African witch goodnight.

Charlie and Sasha strolled side by side down the hotel's corridor like nothing special was about to happen, like he wasn't dying to caress every square inch of his partner's body. Sasha's hands were stuffed into his trousers' pockets; Charlie's were clasped behind his back (reckoning it was as safe a place as any to store them – one could keep hold of the other in case of mutiny). Their pace was casual, their silence companionable. Just two colleagues heading back to their separate rooms after a long day of conference seminars – not looking anything like a pair of lovers eagerly dashing toward an interlude of intense passion.

Another couple – a man and a woman – strolled down the hall in the opposite direction. Their arms linked, the woman cozied up to the man as they approached, and the two of them shared an intimate smile. Charlie felt a flare of jealousy as he fell back to walk behind Sasha, making room for them to pass. He reminded himself that when push came to shove, even if the corridor had been deserted, he and Sasha wouldn't have walked down the hall together like that: draped over each other, maximizing bodily contact in public. Still, it rankled that it could never happen, that to do so would be to make a spectacle of themselves, that the pressure to abstain from all such public displays of affection was so great, thereby sparing any onlookers the terrible awkwardness of witnessing two men in love.

But then he averted his eyes – to better prevent himself from glaring at the offending couple – and his gaze came to rest on Sasha's perfectly masculine form: the broad shoulders Charlie ached to hang from, the deep canyon of a spine whose ridges Charlie dearly loved to run his tongue along, the magnificently firm arse he adored holding in the palms of his hands. These blazing, purified thoughts chased away the baser ones, and Charlie found himself biting his lips to prevent a feral grin from spreading across his face.

For some perverse reason, Sasha paused in the corridor before a large picture window, delaying their mutual gratification. Withdrawing his hands from his pockets, he set them on the railing just below the windowsill. As Charlie did the same, their pinky fingers grazed each other, and a jolt of fire ran through his body as they looked out over Durbar Square.³

Ancient and deeply magical, the wizarding portion of Kathmandu was hidden within the palace complex, accessed by stepping into a hidden alcove in Taleju Temple and falling through the enchanted wall there. From where they stood, a collection of triple-roofed buildings interspersed with domed and spired stupas spread out before them. Brilliantly painted Eyes of Buddha peered out in all directions like so many sentries, and rainbow-hued strings of prayer flags fluttered in the evening breezes. In the far distance, well beyond the lower, greener, rounder mountains, snow-capped and jagged Himalayan peaks attempted to pierce the moonlit sky.

"You are even more beautiful than this," Charlie barely breathed, so quietly that if Sasha had been standing another six inches away, he wouldn't have heard the declaration. The Russian language that had felt so clumsy on his tongue when he'd first learned it nearly a decade ago now felt smooth and natural. "The most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"And you are my madness," Sasha murmured in reply. His head tilted ever so slightly toward Charlie in acknowledgement, and, gazing down at their hands instead of the vista, his little finger began to stroke Charlie's, heaping fuel on an already explosive fire burning within. "My lovely insanity, afflicting mind and body and soul."

"I need you so much," Charlie confessed in a whisper. It was no revelation – in the nine years they'd spent together, such devotion and dependence as his was impossible to disguise. He'd gone so far as to confess it upon multiple occasions, even though the words were supremely redundant.

"I cannot live without you," Sasha said. As he dragged his gaze up from their hands to boldly meet Charlie's needy stare, he felt the heat of it rake upward along his torso. Sasha's dark brown eyes were now bottomless pools of black desire, and Charlie longed to plunge in head first.

"Say that you love me as much as I love you," Charlie quietly commanded, his heart pounding fit to burst. Sasha's expressive lips had hypnotized him now, and he stared slavishly at them, his will entirely sublimated to his hunger.

"You know I love you, Charlie," Sasha said, his soft smile adding sparkles to his eyes. He hooked his little finger around Charlie's and took a step backward, pulling him away from the window. Still walking backward, maintaining eye contact, he murmured, "Let me show you how much."

Sasha discreetly dropped Charlie's hand and spun around to face forward, the better to hasten toward their rooms at the end of the corridor. He looked gorgeous wearing his impeccably tailored robe the color of a midnight sky, with tiny flecks of silver woven into the fabric that glinted when the light hit them just right. Eschewing the fur-collared and -cuffed style popular with most Durmstrang alumni, Sasha had gone with a more modern, minimalistic western European cut that perfectly set off every delectable bump of muscle on his body. Nor had Charlie's been the only appreciative eyes in the assembly room that night: several witches had batted their eyes and cast come-hither looks Sasha's way during dinner – looks that had gratifyingly gone ignored.

The corridor was empty when they reached their adjoining rooms. Sasha murmured the password spell at his door, spun around as he flung it open, and the two of them collided, crashing through the threshold as the door shut behind them. Charlie's back hit a wall as Sasha's mouth claimed his, and the two of them seemed to be in competition to see who could hold the other more tightly. Heavy breathing and an occasional muffled moan were the only sounds to be heard for several minutes.

"You look like a moonbeam," Sasha murmured like low rumbling thunder as he nibbled Charlie's ear, making his knees go weak.

Charlie's robe was made of a pale grey silk in a traditionally English fashion, but he'd foregone the usual tassels and gaudy spangles commonly favored by British wizardry. Instead, a row of simple yet elegant mother-of-pearl buttons ran down his torso from his chest to waist, where the front of the robe cut away to reveal trousers of the same cloth. The paleness of the silk set off the warm tones of his summer sun-kissed and befreckled skin, the vivid red of his hair.

Sasha began to sink slowly to his knees. On his way down, he bit each of the buttons off one by one and spit them out like so many watermelon seeds. They clattered to the floor, to be Accioed and reattached tomorrow morning. With Sasha's help, Charlie shrugged out of the robe, and it fell in a heap on the floor at his feet. Then Sasha worked his trousers open while Charlie ran rough thumbs over his tanned cheekbones.

Charlie and Sasha had never had much use for buggery. They'd tried it a few times, of course. And while the sensation of burying himself to the hilt into his very own hot, tight Russian was admittedly heavenly, the converse of having a deliciously long, thick cock repeatedly rammed up his bunghole left something to be desired. It fucking hurt, in fact. What was the sense of causing the one you loved so much discomfort, they both wondered, when there was mutual enjoyment to be had via so many alternate avenues? Sure, numbing charms and lubes and other accoutrements could be employed, but that was a hell of a lot of unnatural interference with what should be, in their minds, a spontaneously enjoyable expression of trust and intimacy rather than an I'll-get-off-whilst-you-endure-it sort of experience. And so it was frotting, fondling, and fellatio for these two, in as many varied and inventive ways as could be devised.

What is it about hotel sex? Charlie wondered as a soft, wet, almost unbearably exquisite heat enveloped him. Why was it that a simple change of venue, a mere unfamiliarity with the décor managed to make the routine sex one had with the same long-term partner feel so much more passionate? Was it the hint of elicit-ness, the delicious savor of doing something one ought not to be doing in a place one didn't truly belong? Could it be a whiff of exhibitionism – might not a stranger overhear them crying out in the throes of love and know exactly what it signified?

"So amazing," Charlie moaned breathily, his fingers sliding into Sasha's feather-soft hair. And when Sasha hummed in reply, the vibrations rippling through his lower body, something bestial twisted within Charlie. Fearing he was on the verge of fully losing control, he pulled Sasha back up to standing and kicked his feet out of his boots and trousers.

The urgency to strip Sasha of his clothing, to press as much flesh together as was humanly possible was nearing a frantic level. Charlie's and Sasha's hands interfered with each other's attempts to work open the garments without ripping them. In the end, Sasha gave up and roughly yanked the half-open and tangled robe up and over his head, flinging it across the room in his haste and frustration, then hopping out of his trousers. The men stumbled and spun clumsily toward the bed, crashing into it and each other.

Once horizontal, however, a subdued yet still ardent calm settled upon them. Arms and legs entwined, fingertips kissed and mouths caressed heated skin. The entire night lay ahead of them, demanding the mad, headlong dash of a moment ago be abandoned for a more measured, steady stoking of passion.

Now fully recovered from the effects of the Greek Fire curse, Sasha's body hair had finally been completely restored. He'd hated the long and uncomfortable healing process, and while Charlie'd enjoyed a few aspects of his lover's temporarily smooth skin (as well as the daily job of massaging in the healing salve), he much preferred Sasha's natural level of hirsuteness. He fairly reveled in it now, his hands delighting in petting the soft forest on Sasha's arms, chest, and torso.

Charlie caressed his lover's neck and shoulders, revisiting the familiar landscape of scar tissue and muscle he'd memorized years ago. He ran his tongue down the ridge of a long-healed gash across his chest, a pathway favored for its proximity to a nipple, tasting brawn and raw masculinity seasoned with a dark, brooding sensitivity. Meanwhile, his lover's hands explored his own body, eliciting waves of electric ecstasy and goose flesh.

Closer and closer together they melted, edges blurring, individualities fusing. Perspiration and breath blended as flesh glided along flesh, coaxing pulses to race and throats to moan and groins to throb. Lips and eyes and palms feasted upon skin, arms and legs clutched, pelvises grinded together.

Charlie began to doubt that his mind was registering his body's pleasure alone, convinced that a single human being couldn't produce so much euphoria – was it possible to be so in tune with another person as to feel his bliss, too? When the moment of mutual climax hit him with a seismic force, it rattled bones and tore through flesh and mind both, leaving him weak yet sated, fulfilled yet drained, centered yet tethered to something outside himself. His consciousness drifted off then, contentedly floating in the brackish delta between sleep and alertness.

Nearly a quarter of an hour later, rousing from a brief doze and feeling chilled, he glanced at Sasha's little traveling clock. The time was nearing the very wee-est of the morning hours – if he crept back to his own bed now, he might be able to get back to sleep in time to make it worthwhile before they had to wake for the final morning's meetings.

"Don't," Sasha whispered as Charlie began to stir. His arm hooked around Charlie's waist to emphasize the command.

"Sash, you need your sleep," Charlie scolded his insomniac partner. They almost never spent an entire night together any more. Keeper hut number nine frequently hosted visiting researchers – they rarely had the place to themselves. And Sasha was an extremely light sleeper, waking at the little disturbances that were unavoidable when sharing the small beds of the hut and seldom falling back asleep easily. Topping this all off was the threat of being caught by another, possibly less understanding and discreet colleague than Freya.

"I need you more," Sasha argued, pulling him closer, holding him tighter.

Charlie didn't argue. He laid his arm on top of Sasha's instead. "A little while longer, then," he yawned.

"No," Sasha insisted. "All night."

"Sash..."

"I want to wake up beside you," Sasha murmured, nuzzling Charlie's stubble-rough cheek. "Or better yet, in your arms. Just once, I don't want to care about what someone else might see, or what they might think. We're thousands of miles away from everyone who knows us."

"And we're surrounded by strangers who still might talk," Charlie countered. "What if somebody here comes to the rez for research?"

"What if I said I don't care anymore?" Sasha grumbled. "What if I said I was sick of hiding? What if I said I wanted the world to know I love you?"

Charlie patted his arm. "Then I would say you had too much to drink at dinner, love," he chuckled.

Sasha raised his head. "Are you ashamed of us? Of me?"

Charlie pulled away and rose up on his elbows. "Don't even joke about that. You know better," he scolded.

Sasha flopped onto his back, pressing his palms into his eyes, sighing deeply. "A lifetime is a very long time to pretend a lie."

"It's been less than a decade," Charlie offered, unsure if this fact helped or harmed the situation.

"Longer, for me," Sasha said. He reached out for Charlie, who shifted to nestle himself against his body once more. "Are we really going to keep up this stupid game forever?"

"No, only as long as you'll have me," Charlie parried, attempting to inject a bit of levity into the conversation.

"These are the same things," Sasha assured him, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

"I just don't see any way around it," Charlie said, replaying all the arguments in his head. The keepers all depended on each other, trusting one another with their very lives. "If we give the others a reason to fear us, or mistrust us – no matter how invalid–"

"People could die, I know," Sasha sighed, voicing their recurrent excuse, the boulder in their path they never could manage to find a way around. "I can't help but wonder, though... would it really be so divisive? Look how everyone is so supportive of Freya and Flaviu – Ihrin's nearly two years old now."

Charlie thought about it. It was true that the disruption of Freya's pregnancy was less dramatic than anyone could've predicted – certainly not the career-ending catastrophe she'd feared. And arranging for the child to be cared for while the two of them worked had been a challenge, but they'd recently found a reasonably workable situation by hiring a local cousin of Flaviu's for the job. For the most part, their child now barely registered a blip in the reservation's operating protocols.

Then again, Ihrin was hardly the first bastard child of a keeper, and Flaviu and Freya's relationship, such as it was, fell well within the boundaries of acceptable heterosexual normalcy.

What would happen if they boldly declared their love for each other to the world? Would the other keepers accept them with a modicum protest then quickly move on, like they had with Freya? Or would they be shunned for breaking the ultimate taboo amongst keepers, these manliest of men? Would they be persecuted? Driven off the reservation? Would they lose their friends, coworkers, careers?

And was the status of things now so very bad? When did they ever wish they could kiss or embrace in front of an audience? Would they spontaneously begin calling each other pet names, verbally flirting, dancing around homosexual innuendoes in public upon coming out? What exactly would be gained by telling everyone?

They'd never been asked point blank, and Charlie suspected that neither of them would, if pressed, lie in denial. But they were private people to begin with, after all, preferring a quiet sort of intimacy. Aside from the occasional itchy conscience about the technicality of lying by omission, Charlie was, by and large, perfectly content with the way things were. They were left to live and work and love in peace – what more could they realistically ask for?

"Are you really willing to risk it all?" Charlie asked softly.

Sasha's slow, deep sigh was far more eloquent than any verbal reply could have been.

1. JK Rowling's copyrighted speech can be found in its entirety here. Regarding the quote I used preceding this chapter, I could not have lifted it with less regard for context, and for that, I apologize profusely to Ms. Rowling.

2. The Occamy is JKR's invention, as far as I can tell (Fantastic Beasts). The nāga belongs to both Hindu and Buddhist mythologies, with some tweaking on my part.

3. Durbar Square is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. And what location could be more magical than Kathmandu, Nepal?