Fragile Ground

by Louisa Keller

  "Do you want to?" Harris had asked.

  "I...yeah.” Olivier's heart had been racing, his hands shaking slightly, but he'd never been so excited in his life.

  And then Harris was slipping the condom onto Olivier's aching cock, and fingering himself desperately. The sex itself was messy and quick and somewhat awkward. But the sensations, the sheer erotic energy of it, took Olivier's breath away and left him wanting more. Not with Harris necessarily—they were together because of proximity more than any shared interests—but with other guys. They parted ways on friendly terms and over the course of Olivier's college career they ran into each other at the occasional party, sometimes sneaking off to an unoccupied bedroom for old time’s sake.

  Olivier waits with bated breath for Auriel to respond to his question. He expects Auriel's normal signs of arousal…pupils dilating, nostrils flaring, front teeth biting absently at his lower lip. Instead, he finds Auriel pulling back slightly, putting some space between them.

  "Wait, I'm sorry, should I not have…?” Olivier feels like he's just missed a step going down the stairs, and he's desperate to get things back on track. "Is that not something we do?"

  And suddenly he is terrified that Auriel is going to say, no, it's not something we do.

  But Auriel's expression isn't upset. He's contemplative, and Olivier wonders if he's just putting physical space between them so that he can articulate something without the distraction of their racing pulses and persistent erections.

  "It's definitely something we do. But I think we should talk about it for a few minutes."

  Olivier's relief floods him so quickly that he gets a head rush and has to lean against the kitchen island until his vision clears. "What is there to talk about?" he asks carefully, trying not to sound flippant or desperate.

  Auriel reaches out for Olivier's hand and asks, "is it okay if we go outside to have this discussion?"

  Olivier nods and follows him out to the front porch this time. There's a rickety old porch swing in front of the living room window, and they settle on it together. Auriel folds his hands in his lap and turns to survey Olivier for a moment. "As far as I understand, you had a lot of sex in college."

  "Is that a problem?" Olivier asks.

  Auriel laughs. "Not at all. You've always been really open with me about your sexual history, and I've always been very sex positive. But I think you should know that you're the only man I've ever allowed to fuck me. I haven’t really been with many guys."

  And that gives Olivier pause. Auriel is so confident in every aspect of their relationship, from romantic intimacy to sex, that it blows Olivier's mind that the surety doesn't come from a slew of relationships with other men.

  "Were you with women before me?" Olivier asks.

  Auriel nods. "Yeah, I’ve dated a few women who I enjoyed quite a lot. At some point I got curious so I casually dated a few guys and that was great too. I enjoyed the people I went out with, but I never had a serious relationship like this. Then I started dating you, and it was like I discovered an entirely new part of myself that I'd been neglecting. Or like, I didn't even know it was there, you know? You’re not just any old partner, you know? Like, for me, you're an incredibly good match. And I found that I wanted to open myself up to you in every way."

  "Okay," Olivier says carefully, wondering where this is going.

  "We took quite a while to actually work up to penetrative sex. And I say it that way, because any time we're getting each other off, it's sex. At least, to me. I feel so connected to you emotionally and physically, that it seems cheap to say that something's not sex just because it doesn't involve a dick in an ass. You know?"

  Olivier has never given the sentiment much thought, but he supposes that it makes sense. “Yeah, I guess. Does that mean…what does that mean for us now?”

  Auriel sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. I mean, everything we’ve done since I got back has been amazing. I obviously want to keep being intimate with you. But there’s a part of me that needs to take it slow in terms of the really emotionally charged stuff.”

  “Like bottoming?” Olivier asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “I think,” says Auriel slowly, “that there’s a part of me that isn’t quite sure if this is going to last. I know that you are invested at this point, and I absolutely am, but I’m still afraid that sometime in the future you’ll realize that you don’t want this.”

  Olivier mulls that over. “I mean, I can’t tell you anything definitive about the future. I don’t have a crystal ball or whatever. But I can tell you that this thing—you and me—feels right. It’s like I was flailing around with my head in the sand, and when I finally got my shit together and told you how I felt, I could breath easier, and see real pathways expanding before me.”

  “Pathways?” asks Auriel.

  “I don’t know, maybe that isn’t the right word. I see possibilities for the future, and every single ones of them involves you. So I want to take this thing by the horns, and make a real effort. Even if that means you need to take a break from all the sex.”

  “Well, maybe not all the sex,” says Auriel, the corner of his lip curling up into a crooked smile. “Just getting fucked, really.”

  “In that case, how would you feel about fucking me sometime soon?” Olivier asks.

  Auriel licks his lips. “I think that sounds lovely.”

  Olivier snorts. “Lovely. Like it’s a tea party or a wedding gown or a potted plant.”

  “Fine,” says Auriel, “Fucking you sounds unbearably arousing. Better?” He reaches out a hand and tangles it in Olivier’s hair, pulling him into a kiss.

  When Olivier finally surfaces, he dazedly murmurs, “much better.”

  Olivier makes a real effort to respect Auriel’s desire to take things slow. He puts his energy into learning more about Auriel, and orchestrating elaborate dates for the two of them to go on. One night Olivier orders Thai food and they squeeze onto the settee together, limbs tangled, watching Casablanca and stealing bites of each other’s food. The next day Olivier makes a reservation for them at a tiny pottery shop that holds BYOB painting classes each week. He takes Auriel to see the local community theater’s production of The Little Mermaid; they hold hands through the entire show. A couple of weeks after Auriel’s return, Olivier insists that they go to Carter’s, the behemoth of a bookstore that takes up an entire city block. They banter about each other’s taste in books, and Olivier drags Auriel into a secluded aisle to make out.

  They’re getting to know each other, and Olivier can feel himself settling into this relationship. Little things about Auriel take his breath away, and he marvels at each and every one of them. Olivier is no longer focused on the Auriel who knew Olivier before the accident, but rather on the Auriel who exists in the present. With each passing day, they discover more about each other.

  Auriel gets back into his regular working schedule, and Olivier takes advantage of the time alone at the house. He starts to contemplate getting back to work himself, even going so far as to reach out to his editor and asking to set up a meeting. It turns out that they guy lives about half an hour away, so he and Olivier meet up for drinks at a local brewery.

  “Olivier!” comes a joyful holler from the bar as Olivier enters the building.

  It’s a warm environment, all dark stained wood on the walls, and the building’s guts in full view against the ceiling. The exposed pipes give the place a casual, if somewhat industrial, feeling.

  “Hey, are you Greg?” Olivier asks when he reaches the man who had called out to him.

  “Yeah, yeah I am.” Greg regards Olivier seriously for a moment, taking in his stiff posture and carefully neutral expression. He barks out a raucous laugh. “Goddamn, you weren’t kidding about the amnesia, were you? You look like you’ve never seen me before in your life.”

  Olivier shakes his head. “I wish I was kidding.”

  Greg is a mas
sive guy, easily six-foot-five and barrel-chested to boot. He has a long, thick beard and is wearing a worn red and black flannel that looks super comfortable. His overall demeanor is jovial, and Olivier has to fight the urge to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets to this man. He is clearly the kind of person who puts people at ease without even having to try.

  “What’ll you have?” Greg asks, gesturing toward the line of taps behind the bar. There are about forty to choose from.

  “Do they have a good porter?” Olivier asks.

  “To die for,” Greg assures him, flagging down the woman who is tending the bar. “So, how have you been? You gave us quite a scare when Auriel called to tell me you were honest-to-God comatose. But you don’t look any worse for wear.”

  Olivier smiles weakly at that. “I’m glad it didn’t impact my ethereal beauty.”

  Greg starts laughing again. “I’ve missed our chats, man.”

  “Did we hang out very often?” Olivier asks.

  “From time to time,” says Greg, taking a long swig of his beer. “We mostly talked on the phone. The majority of my writers live out of state, so I do almost all of my work long-distance.”

  “That makes sense,” says Olivier. “I’ve been looking through the website, I’m really impressed with the content.”

  Greg snorts. “I should hope so. You’ve devoted a good chunk of your time to cranking out content for me at a steady clip over the past couple of years. I assume you read through your own work?”

  Olivier nods. “I wanted to piece everything together.”

  “I trust it helped?”

  “Yeah, it helped a lot.” The woman behind the bar sets a pint glass full of dark beer in front of Olivier. “Thanks,” he says. He takes a sip and lets out a little moan of pleasure.

  “Good?” asks Greg, amused.

  “Damn good. You sure know how to pick a meeting spot.” They continue to chat as they make their way through the first round. Once their glasses are empty, Greg orders more drinks before turning to face Olivier.

  “So, it’s totally fine if you just want to shoot the shit and catch up. But knowing you—and I do know you, at least a bit—I’m guessing that you’re itching to get back to work.” Greg raises an eyebrow expectantly.

  Olivier thinks for a moment, and then nods. “I am. It’s just…I’ve read every single one of my articles on that website. And it’s obvious that I went through a ton of personal growth in the last few years. Especially when it comes to my sexual orientation.”

  Greg nods. “I’m not going to argue with that.”

  “Right,” says Olivier. “It’s hard to fathom what I could write about that wouldn’t seem…I don’t know, regressive? To the readers, I mean.”

  “I see what you mean,” says Greg thoughtfully. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself with our readers, you know. They love your commentaries on sex positivity and bedroom dynamics, but I can imagine it might be hard to jump back into that kind of content when you can’t remember the journey that got you to the point of being able to write that stuff comfortably.”

  Olivier lets out a breath, relief flooding him. “I was worried you would expect me to just…get back on the horse or whatever. And I’m willing to try, I really am, but it’s not going to happen overnight.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you about your injury?” Greg asks.

  Olivier is startled by the sudden change in topic. “Um, I guess.”

  “Only if you’re comfortable with it, obviously.”

  He gives it a bit of thought and realizes that he is comfortable with opening up to Greg. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been opening up to Stella and Auriel without any catastrophic results, or maybe he’s gaining an intuition that he never needed before in terms of trusting strangers. Olivier drains his second glass and gestures to the bartender that he would like another.

  “Go ahead, you can ask whatever you want. I can’t promise I’ll answer, but…go for it.”

  Greg smiles fondly at him. “Thank you for trusting me. I’m wondering what your experience has been like since you woke up from the coma.”

  “My experience?” asks Olivier.

  Greg elaborates. “How have you felt? Physically, emotionally…”

  Olivier swallows thickly. “I…was really confused at first. And when I realized that it was two years later than I thought, I was terrified. I don’t know if anyone could see it, I definitely didn’t want them to. And when I looked down and saw all the tattoos on my arms, God…I almost lost it. I wanted to scrub them off or something.”

  “Did you feel that way for a long time?” Greg asks.

  “Yes and no. There are still moments where I feel that way. And not just about the tattoos, obviously, but like about living across the country from my family. For a long time I was also really freaked out because Hattie and Auriel were clearly hiding something from me. They didn’t tell me that Auriel and I were together, at first. I think they were worried it would push me over the edge or whatever. But…do you know Auriel?”

  Greg shrugs. “A bit. Only through you really. But I’ve seen you two together and it’s clear that he’s completely gone over you.”

  “Yeah, well, it was clear even when he was trying to hide it. I was completely overwhelmed and exhausted and confused and then there was this guy looking at me like I hung the moon and, well. I started digging through my social media accounts and it became very clear why he was acting like that.”

  “What did you do when you found out?” Greg asks.

  Olivier takes a deep breath. “I yelled at him. Or, like, got all passive aggressive. Whatever. I was pissed and embarrassed. And I couldn’t remember ever wanting that kind of relationship. But I was also crazy attracted to him, and I thought maybe if I went back to how my life had been before the accident it might, I dunno, jumpstart my memory or something.”

  Greg laughs. “Did it work?”

  Olivier scowls, though not at Greg. “It did fuck all except hurt Auriel. My memories are gone, and I’m almost positive they’re not coming back.”

  “What makes you say that?” Greg looks fascinated, and it suddenly occurs to Olivier that he’s sharing an awful lot of intimate details about himself.

  “Is this okay? All of this information?” he asks.

  “As long as you’re okay with it,” Greg says, echoing his earlier sentiment.

  “I am,” says Olivier. “I just don’t want to freak you out or whatever. But, uh, yeah. I haven’t had any memories come back yet, and it’s not the kind of thing where I can just will them to appear. You know when you can’t think of someone’s name, and you start searching around, wracking your brain, and you’re able to come up with some thought that leads to another, and then another, and eventually it leads you to the person’s name?”

  Greg nods. “It’s not like that at all. I wrack my brain and all I hit on is a massive, dark wall. There’s nothing to get back, it’s gone for good.”

  “So what are you doing with that information?” Greg asks.

  Olivier bites his lip and then says, “I’m salvaging what I can, but I’m moving forward. I’m living my life starting from this point.”

  “Are you going to stay here? Or move back home?”

  “I’m staying for now. I want to give things a chance. And I think I’m on the verge of falling in love with the man who loves me.”

  A wide smile, bright as sunshine, splits across Greg’s face. “That’s what you’re going to write about then.”

  “What?” asks Olivier, taken aback.

  “If you’re up for it, I think you could produce some amazing content just documenting your experiences navigating life without the last couple years of memories.” Greg leans in toward Olivier conspiratorially. “I think readers would be particularly interested in how you go about rebuilding your relationship. And because I’ve read a hell of a lot of your work, I can say with confidence that you’ll stumble across some really profound insights along the way.”


  Olivier narrows his eyes. “You think people would really be into that?”

  Greg lets out a deep, throaty laugh. “I think people will go batshit for it.”

  13

  Auriel

  Auriel loves that Olivier wants to be with him. He is relieved and humbled and downright chuffed to be the object of so much deliberate attention. The dates Olivier is taking him on require planning and many of them mimic dates that Auriel had taken Olivier on when they first started dating. He’s probably been asking Hattie and Stella for suggestions, and Auriel is not complaining in the slightest.

  Except that it is so damn out of character for Olivier to go to such great lengths for the sake of romance. When they first got together, Auriel did a hell of a lot of wooing. He orchestrated dramatic romantic gestures and paid for expensive meals and opened the car door for Olivier. Meanwhile, Olivier rolled his eyes and made snide comments, and secretly loved every minute of it. But he showed his affection in different ways—giving Auriel an hour-long back massage after a grueling day at the nursery, paying for repairs on Auriel’s car, volunteering to be home when the plumber came to fix the leak in Hattie’s bathroom. His love was just as deep and steady as Auriel’s once he got used to the idea of actually being in love, but he showed it in subtler ways.

  There’s a part of Auriel that revels in being pampered. But the constant, obvious romance is starting to grate on him. Because this isn’t who Olivier really is, it’s who Olivier thinks Auriel wants him to be. And the part of Auriel that isn’t reveling in the attention, feels a little bit heart broken at that thought. So it comes as a relief when, one evening after Auriel gets home from work, he finds Olivier in his nook of an office, typing frantically.