Sasha’svoice was unsteady, cracked with shivers.Laurie shook his head.“Because…we met.Twice.Did I look like I was trying to”—he didn’teven know the right word—“price you up?”
“No.But just so you know, this is the price.”
“What?”
“This room.Heat.Food.I’ve done it for a lot less.”Heshuddered, and on impulse Laurie wrapped his arms around him frombehind.“I’d give you change if I could.”
“Well, it’s just a house.And a grocery-store lasagna.And…Iprefer girls, so you’re all right.”Laurie squeezed him, let himgo, and went to pour juice for him.“I tell you what, though—whileyou’ve got your clothes off anyway…”
* **
Lauriesat by the fire, knees drawn up to his chest, arms encircling them.In the next room, he could hear gentle splashing sounds that hehoped meant Sasha was enjoying the hot bath Laurie had run for him.He surveyed with amusement the tray, which, if it had been achicken, would now be a neat pile of clean-picked bones.Theyhadn’t talked while Sasha had quietly taken the lasagna down to theplate pattern and the fruit to its core.
Lauriewelcomed the silence.He was trying hard to assimilate the idea ofpoor Sasha’s price.That Sasha would think he’d been rescued,warmed, fed, just so that Laurie could…
God.Theidea was repellent to him, and yet he could not shake the vision ofthat naked, firelit frame laid out and waiting on the rug.He’dbeen on his side, hadn’t he, with his back to the fire, so thepainful hollows of his ribs and hips were not apparent and youcould only see his shape—wide shoulders, the elegant curve of historso down to slender hips.I prefer girls, Laurie repeatedsilently, this time almost making himself laugh.He hadn’t reallyhad enough of either to know, but based on the evidence so far,what he preferred at this stage of his life was Sasha.
Who hadarrived in England among the corpses of his friends and lived roughever since, selling sex to strangers until he could no longeraccept or believe in human kindness.Laurie leaned to turn up thefire.No matter what he felt, he mustn’t show it, or…
Thebathroom door creaked gently open.Sasha appeared, safely wrappedin Laurie’s dressing gown, subtly transfigured.Laurie had had noidea how he would look when clean, fed, and thoroughly warm.Hisblack hair was damped down in short feathers: raven’s-wing hair.For the first time, his skin was softly flushed, rose under olive.When his eyes met Laurie’s, they seemed to have a light of theirown, independent of the firelight, making the flames suddenlytawdry and dim.
“Thank you,” Sasha said, with an intensity to match theirblaze.
Lauriesmiled.“Good bath?”
“Religious experience.”
“Ah.”Aware that he was staring, Laurie turned his attentionback to the gas flames and did not watch while Sasha came to kneelbeside him on the rug.He could smell him now—nothing but the tangof Laurie’s own citrus soap and shampoo, somehow intoxicating whenunderlain by this particular skin.Awkwardly reaching fordistraction, he said, “You speak really good English, for animmigrant.”Then, afraid he had been rude, added, “Better than me,I mean.And…even that doesn’t sound right.”
“It’s not,” Sasha told him, settling comfortably on thehearthside.He was so close that Laurie couldn’t help but meet hisgaze.“Do you know why?”
“Oh, God… I did for about five minutes in fourth-year grammar.Something about subjects and predicates and intransitiveChrist-knows-whats.It’s all gone now.”
“No, it hasn’t.You wouldn’t say ‘better than me do,’ wouldyou?”
“No, I wouldn’t.Oh.I see.”Laurie did, for the first time.Itwas crystal clear.He fought the sensation that a big cartoonlightbulb had just popped on over his head.“Why did nobody explainit to me like that before?”
“Blinding kids with science helps a teacher keep his mysticalauthority over them.‘Better than me’ is fine in everyday speech.Everyone knows what you mean, and ‘better than I’ sounds pompous.But you can just add thedo, to work out which one is correct.I think I told you my mother was English.She…ran away to join thegypsies, I suppose you would say.”
Laurie stared at him.I can see howshe came to do that, was in his mouth, onhis tongue.A slow wave of warmth passed through him.She looked into a pair of eyes like yours, andthe rest of the world faded to nothing.Remembering himself—his resolution, his obligations—he tried tomake a sensible reply.“Oh.Is she—”
ButSasha leaned toward him.For a moment his hand clasped andunclasped in the wool of Laurie’s sweater as if he could not decidewhether to seize him or push him away.Laurie, astonished, satstill, and a moment later felt the swift, warm-velvet press ofSasha’s mouth against his own.It was tentative, exploratory.AsSasha backed off, Laurie saw him clouded with anxiety, trying towork out the effects of what he had done, his smile contradictingbut not hiding the fear in his eyes.Sasha said faintly, “I’msorry.”
“Don’t,” Laurie said, his own voice a strange, dry rasp to him.“I mean…don’t be sorry.It’s okay.But I told you, you don’t haveto—”
“Oh, I know.”
“You don’t have to do anything at all,” Laurie finishedawkwardly, reaching helplessly forward to kiss him back.
Time passed.Seconds.Minutes.Laurie didn’t know.All hecould feel were Sasha’s hands on his shoulders, Sasha’s tongue inhis mouth, probing so gently it brought tears like meltwater toLaurie’s eyes.As if he had been the one freezing half to death onthe pavement; as ifhehad been dying of cold.He shuddered and sobbed, took hold ofthe edges of Sasha’s dressing gown and pushed them back, blindlyfeeling for the shapely collarbones beneath.Sasha moaned, arippling vibration in Laurie’s mouth, and they broke apart for aninstant, only long enough to exchange a startled glance, beforepushing urgently mouth to mouth once more.Laurie felt his eyesclose.Burning down his spine was a signal he had seldomexperienced and never at this intensity: the knowledge that he wasabout to become erect, not at the controlled, controlling touch ofhis own hand, but in response to another living creature—a creaturelike himself, another boy.He cried out, half in fright, and feltSasha’s hands come to rest warmly on either side of his face,steadying him, a silent reassurance.
Hisbedroom door clicked.Laurie froze.He opened his eyes and metSasha’s, surely as wide and scared as his own.“Oh, God,” hewhispered, feeling the prayer shape itself against lips stillpressed to his.
But hewould not allow the fear.Laurie would not let anything happen toSasha.If this was the time—right now, apocalyptically, when he hadto stand up to his father, so be it; the old sod could kill him andtoss him out the window if he wanted.Twisting around, Laurie gotto his knees and then his feet, shielding Sasha behind him just ashe himself had been protected against all odds beneath the bridge.He heard his own voice ring out, levelly, unfazed.“Who’sthat?”
“Me.I’m sorry, Laurie.”
“Clara.”Laurie swallowed convulsively.“You know, I swore toyour mother I wouldn’t swear in front of you, but fuckinghell, Clara!”
