by Noah Harris
He placed the rag-streaked glasses on the table and wondered if Guy would know the answer. He had already made himself at home at the table and graciously helped himself to a glass. Each cork was pulled and placed aside, and his hands worked nimbly as he poured out the wine. Barry watched with fascination as he poured and distributed the glasses.
His hand movements were like a flowing breeze that eased around manual tasks with such grace. His grip was light and seemed almost like he wasn’t holding anything at all, but still held up whatever he grabbed firmly, as if holding a baby. His eyes watched curiously. Barry never felt himself so drawn to watching someone’s hands move before but there was something about it that was so rhythmic and almost otherworldly.
He was reminded slightly of Xanathen and sighed. He knew he was out there, somewhere, having fun with a group of people he barely knew. Though his gait was straight-forward and almost blocky, the way he ran and moved his hands had fluidity to it.
A bottle of wine slipped from Guy’s hands and he quickly fumbled to catch it. There was a swift apology and an awkward laugh, thankfully the bottle hadn’t been opened yet. Barry shook his head as he thought how dumb it was to be comparing Guy to a dragon.
They had gone through several bottles by now, tasting a little here and there and putting the mostly-full bottles aside. Barry had yet to find something he really enjoyed apart from Guy’s company. The wines, whether they were red or white, didn’t really strike him. He found sitting with someone and just talking about things to be more satisfying than the wine itself.
Guy smiled as he swiftly pulled up the last bottle. The cork was popped and he carefully poured a glass for each of them. Barry looked down at the next glass and chuckled internally; Just a taste? He thought. May as well give me a bucket.
“Ah, crap. Did it again.” Guy laughed. “Sorry. Not used to pouring for two.”
“Don’t you do this with co-workers?”
“They usually pour their own. That, and if they’re drinking, they’re usually staying,”
Barry’s mind mulled over the thought. Something about the crooked grin on his companion’s face almost seemed wicked at the implication. It wasn’t hard for Barry to imagine him as some Roman emperor draped in white, lying on a reclining couch proudly as his coworkers shed their ties and high-heels in a wild, frantic display of hedonism.
“It’s usually pretty dull, though,” Guy added, rolling his eyes. “Usually Martha from accounting says too much, Greg says he regrets his career path, blah blah blah, couches double as beds and the guest rooms have buckets. That sort of thing.”
“Ah. I’ve never really hung out with my co-workers off base,” Barry replied. “Co-workers are co-workers. Never really had any that I wanted to hang out with.”
“I get that. I don’t really like hanging out with them either. It’s less of an ‘I like talking to you people’ sort of thing and more ‘If I pretend to be friendly to you assholes you make working more tolerable’ arrangement.”
“I never asked. What do you do?”
Guy gave a casual shrug. “Fuck if I even know anymore.”
“What?” Barry asked, almost shocked.
“It’s a rabbit hole. I turn off my brain and come back a few hours later with a paycheck. Gotta make that dough, though.”
Barry stared in confusion at the idea. Not even a description? By the way he phrased it, it sounded even more like it was just some menial cubicle job. He could understand not being thrilled about having that sort of job and not wanting to talk about it, but not even knowing what your job was?
“Not everyone gets the job they want, Barry,” Guy continued as he swirled the wine in its glass.
“Ah. Sorry,” Barry apologized quickly.
“It’s all good,” Guy smiled as he looked out the window. “So. How did that recipe go? Things with your boyfriend work out?”
Barry placed his glass on the table and his muscles froze up. His face broke out in a hot red blush as his eyes instinctively darted all over the room. He became as still as stone and sat silently in his chair. His thoughts however darted all over the place and seemed to have no intention of stopping any time soon.
Guy’s sleepy eyelids slowly lifted as he leaned back away from Barry, like there was some kind of huge chaotic force erupting from him. He shook his head as he put his glass aside.
“Hey, Barry. It’s okay,” he started. His voice was unwavering but still had the soft, soothing quality that was so easy to listen to. “No need to panic. We’ve discussed this. I’m gayer than an entire pride parade. I’m not gonna judge you, alright? It’s okay.”
“Uh. Yeah. Um. Sorry,” Barry felt himself get lost in Guy’s gaze. Beneath his hooded lids was a knowing look of compassion. The silvery eyes twinkled with years of experience and understanding. He could feel his heart rate slow down and his anxiety was put aside as Guy talked him down from his panic. “I’m just…”
“Not used to saying it out loud?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s okay, though. Everyone goes at a different pace,” Guy replied with a soft smile. “Gotta take these things one step at a time.”
“I know,” Barry was still stiff and felt he was only capable of short answers.
“You told me. That’s a pretty big step. You should be proud of yourself. You’re doing just fine. Just know I’m not going to judge you. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No. I got this. You helped me do this, so the least I can do is tell you about it,” He shook his head, trying to get rid of all the tingly sensations of fear and anxiety that threatened to creep up his back.
Barry’s hand extended to the glass on the table and gulped the remaining contents down without taking a breath. He could barely remember the taste of it, only the calming sensation that followed moments after. It may have been the internal feeling of panic, or maybe it was the fact that the alcohol made the screaming feeling quiet down, but Barry enjoyed this wine the most. Without even questioning his arm shot out and shakily poured himself another glass.
Guy sat calmly nearby, still swirling his glass comfortably in his hand, making a small whirlpool of wine. Barry’s eyes were fixed on the restless dark liquid and he was briefly reminded of the salty seas that filled his lungs only a few short months ago. His mind went back to the crashing waves that pounded against him as he floated on a tiny raft, alone in the ocean. He felt himself zone out, his consciousness nearly leaving his body completely, as he felt the chills run down his spine, quietly reliving the soul-splitting horrifying cry of the elder dragon. The wine continued to splash against the top of the glass and crash into itself, becoming more and more like the crazed sea that tried to engulf him before the dragon could. The sound of its scream echoed through the night piercing Barry’s very soul.
Barry’s heartbeat grew faster as he was pulled back there again, alone on the little raft without any weapons and only his own resourcefulness to help him. He could practically taste the salt as the water sprayed him mercilessly.
His heart lightened as the memory continued to play out, thinking of the dragon, as dark as night, flying straight into the fight. Xanathen had risked it all for him. He fought with every ounce of energy in his body to keep Barry safe. He did the impossible to save Barry. He felt safe with that thought. As fast as his blood was rushing, he felt a calm in the middle of the storm as he thought of Xanathen risking everything to keep him safe.
He thought of how they held each other on that raft afterwards, how they made it to the shore the next day. He felt his face flush as he thought of just being in his dragon’s arms and how safe it made him feel.
“Barry, you alright?” Guy asked, snapping Barry out of his trance. His eyebrow was arched with intrigue and his glass was still. “You zoned out there. Want me to leave?”
“No, sorry, I was just deep in thought,” Barry replied. “I’ll be fine. The dinner went well.”
“Really? That’s good! How’d you like that recipe?”
>
“I’m not much of a cook, but I think it turned out pretty great. Best fish I’ve ever made.” Barry felt himself grow hungry as he thought about it.
“See? I told you it was phenomenal. I’ll hook you up with this cookbook I got. Old as shit, but damn, the results are amazing. What about your boyfriend…What was his name?”
“Xanathen,” he said, trying to let it flow naturally from his tongue. When he was alone with Xanathen, he had no trouble calling him that; it tripped fluidly off his tongue like a river in full flow. But whenever he was in public or around anyone else, the name always seemed to stick in his throat.
“Xanathen? How exotic,” Guy cooed. It certainly sounded appealing coming from him. “Or should I just call him The Dragon?”
Barry tensed up a little at the thought, but let himself laugh anyway. It took him a moment to remember that was Xanathen’s rather uncreative stage name. He wondered to himself what Xanathen was up to.
“How did he like it, though?”
“He liked it just fine.”
“Oh?”
“I mean, he ate it all, and he doesn’t eat anything he doesn’t like, so…”
“I see.” Guy’s face remained cool as he sipped his wine. He murmured something about the flavor, scratching something down in his book then returned to the topic at hand. “That’s not much of a compliment. I’ve heard coworkers talk about their dog that way.”
Barry felt a sting of embarrassment rise from his stomach and spread through the rest of his body. His face flushed, nearly matching the color of the untouched wine in his glass. He knew Xanathen appreciated what he did for him, though. He had to. He was always so happy when Barry did anything, it couldn’t be unappreciated.
“Eh, that’s not important,” Guy began to recline in his chair again and waved it away nonchalantly. “What about the rest of it? You two make up?”
As Guy smirked teasingly at Barry, Barry could only stare vacantly down at the table. That nagging feeling rose up again. In a way they did make up. The fighting had finally stopped and the tension was gone. They shared the same bed again and they were actually on speaking terms. They had made up but that voice inside him continued to scream that something about it was horribly wrong.
Guy’s smirk had disappeared as he watched Barry, he simply soaked up the silence in the room. He waited for a response as he searched Barry’s face. There was a silent anger in his eyes as he read him like a book.
“You two made up, right?” he repeated.
“Yeah, I apologized.”
“He did too, right?”
“He didn’t need to. I was the one in the wrong. He’s a grown man, he can make his own decisions. I can’t tell him what to do or what to—”
“Stop.” Guy said. “So this guy not only doesn’t appreciate what you do, but he can’t even own up to his mistakes? That’s not right. Sounds like he’s walking all over you.”
“Okay, so no, he didn’t apologize. But it’s fine. I don’t wanna harp on about it. I just wanna move on, be the bigger man.”
“You’re not being the bigger man, you’re being a doormat. You’re not making up because you see the error of your ways, you’re giving in because it’s easier than confrontation. You don’t wanna keep on with tension, so you say it’s fine even when you know it’s not. So you’re more okay with your thoughts eating you from the inside out than arguing for a few hours and getting shit settled. You’re both in the wrong, yet you’re the one apologizing. You may’ve done some wrong but you don’t deserve to do all the work to put things right.”
Barry sat still, silently staring down at the dark wine in his glass. He felt like all the breath had been ripped right out of his lungs and slammed down on the table in front of him. All the thoughts and feelings, he assumed he had tucked away so discreetly from the rest of the world, were there displayed on the table. There was a brief moment of weightlessness; he no longer felt as heavy with the frustrating burden of it all. Gravity returned stronger than ever as he stared at all his ugly problems wriggling monstrously on the table. Everything seemed even heavier now with the truth on display.
He thought he had been so good at hiding it. He certainly fooled himself. Guy could read him like a book though. Those observant eyes of his could excavate all his dark secrets with just one glance. He wasn’t sure how he did it. Whatever had happened in Guy’s life, he had obviously racked up a lot of experience and could tell things just from the slightest look or tone of a voice. Even the silence gave things away.
The only things harsher than how accurate his radar-like insight was, were his words. They were cold and sharp like steel. This was not at all how Barry expected him to act when he was mad. He wasn’t even sure he was capable of being mad. His usual carefree cadance made him believe there wasn’t an angry bone in his body. Yet there it was: cold and scathing.
Barry’s first instinct was to tell him where to get off. Guy didn’t know Xanathen. He had only heard one side of the story and there he was, making judgements. Xanathen may have been different, but he wasn’t a selfish ass like Guy was making him out to be. A little dense here and there, and maybe not the most socially in tune with the rest of the world, but how could he be? Still, even if he had lived alone on an island for years there were some things that didn’t have to be taught. He found himself becoming more and more angry as he thought about it. But he couldn’t bring himself to admonish the man sitting opposite him. He turned the gun of his anger on himself with the realization that Guy was right.
Guy looked over his glass and placed it on the table. He slid it away from himself, reading Barry’s inner turmoil. He frowned remorsefully as he shifted in his seat. Guy’s expression softened. He looked so ashamed that he’d talked like that; he couldn’t even muster a grin.
“Shit, I went too far. It’s not my place to say, and—”
“No. You’re right,” Barry said. “You’re totally right. I just wanted it to be over with. I wanted things to go back to how they used to be. I thought it would move things along. I just have to accept not every guy is like you.”
“Like me?” Guy echoed curiously, taken aback.
“I dunno. You just seem to instinctively know what people want. Xanathen, I love ’im, but he’s…Sometimes I need to spell these things out to him. But it hurts that I have to tell him that I’m hurt in the first place. Like, he should already know.”
“I mean he’s only human.”
Dragons, from his experience, certainly seemed wiser and more knowledgeable, capable of incredible feats of memory. But maybe they had no way of sympathizing with human wants and needs. Everything he remembered, at least from what Xanathen had told him, theirs was a culture of humans worshipping dragons. They weren’t seen as equal partners but as tools to meet some end. To dragons, humans brought someone to fan their egos or to further a strange lineage. They were not partners. They were adoring followers, willing to do their bidding. He remembered the paintings on the walls of the cavern, the humans were small and crudely painted, bowing before the beautifully rendered dragons and giving in to them.
He frowned as he continued to think about it. Surely Xanathen couldn’t be like that, could he? A beast who’d been barely raised in dragon society, or any society at all, couldn’t possibly have the expectations of a life he had barely had a taste of. Barry was certain Xanathen loved him as a partner. He had to. But despite his confidence, he still felt shaky in his beliefs.
“That’s your third glass. Looks like you finally found one you really like.” Guy said.
Sure enough, Barry’s glass was empty again. He didn’t remember drinking it, but he could taste it on his lips. He shrugged lazily and pushed the glass away from him. Guy smiled softly as he poured Barry one last glass, only filling it half way.
“You keep drinking it, but you’re not savoring it. Try just tasting it this time,” he instructed pleasantly.
Barry nodded, feeling his worries begin to fade as he focused on the wine at hand.
He lifted the glass to his lips to slowly let the wine slip into his mouth. Unlike the other wines he had tried this wine barely had much of a bouquet to it. He barely noticed it as he first smelled and then drank it, but as he held it in his mouth and let the taste sit on his tongue it really warmed up to him. It was a dark red wine with an almost earthy taste to it, but with a light, breezy aftertaste that danced on his taste buds. It was full of life and experience yet delightful and soft. He had never tasted a wine quite like this one before and as he looked back at Guy with a smile, he decided he wouldn’t mind having it again and again.
“Well?” Guy asked.
“It’s really good. I like it a lot. Best one by far.”
“What a coincidence. This one was my favorite today, too,” he chuckled, his dimples on full display.
His wavy brown hair fell over his ear as he plugged up the bottle while teasing Barry that he’d had enough that day. He coyly pushed the bottle to Barry with the very tips of his fingers, an entrancing look illuminating his light gray eyes.
“Here. Since you like it so much, it’s yours,” he continued.
Barry focused on Guy’s thin, curved lips framed by those cute dimples as he subconsciously reached for the bottle. He was caught by his knowing gaze and although no words were spoken he felt a flutter of elation inside. The table grew silent as his fingers wrapped around the tall, sturdy bottle that was pushed in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he was reaching out for exactly but he knew he wanted it.