“Want to go for a drive?” Auriel asks, keeping his voice soft.
“No,” murmurs Olivier, still half asleep, turning back over and pulling the comforter up over his head.
Auriel sighs, although he finds Olivier’s reluctance to awaken oddly endearing. “Come on baby, I’ll do the driving. You just have to walk to the car.”
There is a pause while Olivier considers, and then his voice comes, muffled, through the comforter. “Can I bring a blanket?”
Auriel laughs. “Yes. Tell you what, you can even bring a pillow.”
Olivier emerges from his cocoon one inch at a time, throwing an arm dramatically over his eyes as if the dim lamp is blinding him. When he has finally extricated himself, he shuffles across the room to pull on shoes. The comforter, still wrapped around his shoulders like a gargantuan cape, drags on the floor.
“Here, I’ll take that out to the car,” Auriel offers, folding the comforter neatly and stacking a pillow on top of it.
Olivier shivers pitifully and moves in to wrap his arms around Auriel’s waist. “Warm,” he mumbles. Auriel sighs and drops his armful, wrapping his arms instead around his boyfriend.
“You want my hoodie?” Auriel offers. He strips it off and helps Olivier pull it on. They make their way outside into a stunning moonlit night. Their new car is parked up against the curb, and Olivier climbs into the passenger seat, still sleepy and ready to drift off again. Auriel tucks him in with the blanket and pillow, then walks over to the driver’s side and gets situated behind the wheel.
The drive is quiet. Normally when they go on road trips, Olivier cranks up the music and sings along, regardless of whether or not he actually knows the words. They are a volume-up, windows-down kind of couple on the road, and it makes for joyous excursions. But tonight Olivier is drifting in and out of sleep, and Auriel is enjoying the solitude of the interstate after midnight. Their destination is not terribly far—only an hour or so—although the journey feels momentous.
When they finally pull up outside of a rustic beach house, Olivier lifts his head and asks, “where are we?”
“Bayside,” replies Auriel.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Olivier asks.
Auriel grins. “It will after tonight. Come on.”
They get out of the car and are greeted by a cool sea breeze. It has been an unseasonably warm autumn, and tonight the weather is mild and pleasant. Stella’s family’s beach house is homey as ever when they step inside, and Olivier pauses to gawk at the eclectic knick-knacks. “Did you rent this bizarre little cabin?” he asks.
Auriel shakes his head. “Stella’s family owns this place. She gave me the keys.”
“Cool,” says Olivier. “So is this a romantic getaway or what?”
“It is,” Auriel concedes. “Do me a favor and grab that little wagon. We need to take it outside.”
They fill the Radio Flyer with some of the firewood stacked neatly on one end of the front porch. Auriel throws in a box of matches and a ratty quilt that looks like it has seen better days. Then he grabs the handle and begins dragging the wagon across the sand.
“Where are we going?” Olivier asks.
“Nowhere in particular,” says Auriel. “Just let me know when you see a spot you like.”
The moon is shining down upon them, bathing the pair in silvery light, and Orion sits high in the sky above them. Auriel gives the constellation a little nod in greeting, glad to see the friendly cluster of stars.
“This is beautiful,” Olivier says as the ocean comes into view. Waves crash against the sand ahead of them, creating a gentle soundtrack reminiscent of placing a shell against one’s ear.
“Do you want to get closer to the water?” Auriel asks.
“Yeah. Not close enough that the sand is wet though.”
They venture further and further along the beach, making their way toward the sea. The wagon bumps along behind them, its wheels turning sturdily despite the sand. They finally settle in a little dip of sand between the wide ocean and a large piece of driftwood. Auriel begins arranging the smallest pieces of wood into a teepee, stuffing little scraps of newspaper into the middle of it. He strikes a match and the small flame flares to life, flickering slightly in the breeze. He holds it to the base of the teepee and the newspaper ignites, curling in on itself and lighting the kindling. As the fire begins to grow, he painstakingly places larger pieces of wood into a lean-to shape, careful to put them where they will catch as the kindling burns hotter.
Olivier spreads out the quilt and pats the spot beside him as he settles upon it. “Join me?”
Auriel shuffles over to sit next to Olivier, wrapping an arm around him.
“I spent the loneliest week of my life here,” Auriel says quietly.
Olivier turns to look at Auriel, his gaze assessing. “When we broke up?”
Auriel nods. “Stella drove me here and told me to take the week and clear my head.”
“You looked rough when you got back. I remember it vividly.”
“I know. And you looked like you were thriving.” Auriel reaches out to link their fingers together.
“I had decided I was going to win you back,” Olivier says.
“And I was finally starting to come to terms with letting you go. Funny how the timing worked out,” Auriel muses.
“If it makes you feel any better, I spent a good portion of that week making myself ill before I realized that I needed you in my life,” Olivier tells him.
“That makes two of us,” says Auriel, smiling.
“So why did you bring me here, if this place holds so many bad memories for you?” Olivier asks.
The firelight is bright and warm, illuminating Olivier’s beautiful face. His eyes are round and concerned, and his hand is squeezing Auriel’s tightly. Auriel takes a deep breath. “The last time I was here, I thought we were done for good. I felt like I had lost the love of my life. And now…God, Olivier. The last year has been the happiest of my life. Happier than the first time we fell in love, because the second time around I realized exactly how valuable our relationship is. I know now what it’s like to lose you, and having a second chance is probably the best thing that will ever happen to me.”
Olivier’s smile is exquisite in the light of the dancing flames. “Same,” he says.
Auriel continues, “I wanted to reclaim this place. Last time I was here it wasn’t beautiful…it was haunting. The mist, the waves…they were dark and unfriendly. But tonight I am here with the man I love, and all I can see is beauty.”
“I know,” Olivier whispers. “I’m right there with you.”
They sit quietly for a while, basking in the glow of the fire and the warmth of each other’s bodies. Olivier leans his head on Auriel’s shoulder, sighing contentedly.
“I’m not sad anymore,” Olivier says finally.
“About not getting your memories back?” Auriel asks.
“Yeah. It doesn’t bother me now.” They lapse back into a momentary silence, listening to the rhythmic cresting of the waves.
Then Auriel says, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Hattie’s room.”
“God, yeah, we need to start looking for another roommate. I can’t believe she and Stella are shacking up.”
Auriel laughs. “I can. It’s been a long time coming. You know I caught them making out in the kitchen like a week before your car accident?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” says Olivier, laughing.
“Anyway, I was thinking that maybe we could hold off on finding another roommate. Maybe convert Hattie’s room into a bigger office for you.”
“Are you serious?” Olivier asks. “I mean, it’s your house, obviously we can do whatever you want. But you don’t have to do that just for me.”
“That’s the thing. It is my house but…I want it to be your house too.”
The fire cracks loudly, one of the logs falling over and sending a whirl of sparks into the air.
“A
re you…what are you asking me here?” Olivier is looking Auriel dead in the eye, braced for the impact of what he must know if coming next. But he doesn’t look afraid.
“I was thinking we could add your name to the mortgage,” Auriel says.
“Isn’t that something people usually do when they get married?” Olivier asks, a smile playing across his lips.
“Right, about that.” Auriel reaches into the wagon and pulls out an envelope he had hidden beneath the firewood. He hands it to Olivier and regards him quietly as he fumbles to open it.
Inside is a thick document folded three times to fit in the standard-sized envelope. Olivier unfolds the paper and lo and behold: it’s the mortgage. He almost misses the ring that slides out of the document and onto his lap. But then he’s holding it up to the fire, admiring the simple silver band. “Are you asking me to marry you?” he asks, his voice choked.
“Only if you want to,” Auriel says. “The offer’s out there. Take some time to think on it.”
Olivier tackles Auriel into the sand, kissing him furiously while simultaneously struggling to get the ring onto his own finger. He finally sits up triumphantly, straddling Auriel’s lap and wearing his engagement ring. “There’s nothing to think about,” Olivier tells him. “I want a future with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
They fall back into the kiss, grinding together on the beach as the fire slowly dies to scattered embers. Their embrace becomes increasingly charged until they are frotting against each other, unable to tamp down their arousal. Olivier hauls Auriel back onto the quilt and maneuvers both of their pants down.
“You have lube?” Olivier asks.
Auriel produces a packet from his wallet and Olivier slicks his own fingers eagerly, before sliding them one at a time into Auriel. Fingers ultimately give way to his cock, the two of them thrusting wantonly on the deserted beach. Afterward, when they have cleaned up as best they can and spread the coals enough that they won’t reignite the remaining charred logs, they head back the beach house with their little wagon in tow. The moon is still hanging, heavy and luminous, above them. Auriel holds Olivier’s hand, waves of joy washing over him, confident that their future is bright.
THE END
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About the Author
Louisa Keller is a queer adventuress who has spent most of her life living in New England and the Pacific Northwest. While her academic background revolves mainly around French Studies and Philosophy, she has strayed from these considerably in her professional pursuits. Over the years Louisa has been a tutor, goat farmer, concierge, and freelance copywriter. She has also hiked hundreds of miles across northern Spain, volunteered at a medical clinic in Honduras, and spent many a summer living in small cabins and platform tents. When she’s not off gallivanting, Louisa can be found with a whiskey-ginger ale in one hand and a Philip Pullman book in the other.
www.louisakeller.com
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Fragile Ground Page 17