ITOSHIGO
Marron shuddered as hands that were not his lover’s ran down his torso. Lips that were not his lover’s claimed his own, and he moaned quietly into their warm, foreign chasm. A tongue that was not his lover’s pierced his own dark cavern with a beaconlike warmth. He felt his tongue responding as his breath quickened.
That foreign mouth then broke the embrace and he felt kisses hail down upon his neck and chest. The tongue that was not his lover’s massaged his nipple, and he moaned again.
Gateau could hear them both gasping and moaning like some sort of bad romance novel. At least, he knew he heard Eclaire, and he was fairly sure that some of those pleasure-racked moans were coming from Marron’s mouth.
Feeling not just a little betrayed, Gateau got out of bed, dressing hastily. He closed the door behind him with the utmost care and quietly stalked downstairs. He went out the back door and into the garden courtyard behind the house.
He sat on a bench beneath the silver moonlight, his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows resting on his spread knees. Gateau sighed.
“I brought this upon myself,” he said. “I have no right to complain... But I can’t help it. Every moment I’m not with him, there’s just this huge, dull ache that spreads with every second he’s gone... I can’t help it... I love him.”
Marron gasped as the person who was not his lover mounted his body. His back arched as that body that was not his lover’s lowered itself onto him. He felt detached as that body moved atop of him, a separation he knew. It was the separation of the trauma victim. His body, with all its pains and pleasures, was left far away, a vague impression somewhere below him. As though from miles away, he heard the voice that was not his lover’s call out in pleasure. He was sure he was probably moaning himself, in response to the tightness that was no his lover’s, but he didn’t notice.
He was suspended in pale brightness, completely unaware of the sensual tortures the person who was not his lover was administering below.
Suddenly Marron was pulled back into his skin as the one who was not his lover screamed in final release. He was instantly aware of the heat rushing through his body. Before he had fully realized what was happening, his climax hit him. His back arched as he shouted out, “Gateau!”
Gateau looked up, hearing footsteps. He saw Marron’s delicate face shimmering in the moon’s glow. His hair was loose, and a little mussed, blowing free in the breeze. He looked peaceful.
“How was it?” Gateau asked, not a little bitter.
“A pale shadow compared to anything I’ve ever had with you.” He looked into his lover’s eyes, completely earnest. “It’s over. And I’m glad.”
“Glad?”
“Yes,” Marron replied. “It’s an experience I never want to have again. And do you want to know why?”
“Why?” asked Gateau.
Gateau watched as Marron reached behind his head and fiddled with something on the back of his neck for a few moments... A chain. When Marron held out his long-fingered hand there were two rings in his hand. Before Gateau could do anything, his lover grabbed his strong hand and slid the larger of the two rings onto the fourth finger of his left hand. Then he placed the smaller ring on the fourth finger of his own left hand.
Leaning in close to Gateau’s ear, Marron said, “Because, I’m engaged now.”
Marron sat don next to his fiancee - gods, it felt good to say that - and leaned his head against Gateau’s shoulder. “What do you think we should name the child?” he murmured.
“What?” Gateau laughed.
“Well, it’s something I’ve been pondering ever since we had that crackpot conversation almost a month ago.”
“It makes sense... Gods, all couples have this conversation, don’t they?” Gateau said excitedly.
Marron chuckled. “Yes, I think so.”
“So, what are your thoughts on the subject of names for our child?”
“If it’s a girl... I like Caritas. It means ‘charity.’”
“And there’s a bit of a play on your brother’s name in there, ne?”
“I hadn’t noticed it before, but, yes.”
“Caritas M - Gl -” Gateau blinked. “Which name will our child take on? You aren’t going to change your name, are you?”
“No, I wasn’t planning on it. ‘Marron Mocha’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it...” He chuckled again. He was so happy. In fact, both of them were positively elated. “I figure our child can choose which name they like when the time comes for him or her to go into the world... But until then... I think the father’s name is usually taken by the child.”
Gateau lifted an eyebrow. “Father? Wouldn’t that apply to both of us?”
“Well, Caritas Mocha sounds better than Caritas Glace.... That sounds too much like my brother.”
Gateau laughed. “Fine. Caritas Mocha... I like that. What about if it’s a boy?”
“I don’t know... I couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing sounded right...”
“Amar?”
“Hmmm... Victor?”
“Heiko...?”
“Heiko?” Marron looked surprised.
“Yeah... It was my father’s name...”
“Oh... You’d never mentioned that before...” Marron was puzzled by the look that statement elicited in Marron’s eyes.
“No, because I didn’t know him for very long. It... Well, you know he never played a large role in my life... He was a wanderer at heart, always a wanderer.” Gateau had told Marron the story before, how his father had left them not long after Eclaire was born... Gateau said that every once in a while he would stop back into town to visit with his estranged children. Gateau’s thin, dark-haired mother had done all she could to raise her two children on her own... She had succeeded well, in Marron’s opinion. He could have to be sure to tell the woman that some time.. Yes, Mrs. Mocha was still alive. She hadn’t been very old when she’d married Gateau’s father, for better or for worse. She lived in Sargento, somewhere downtown. Eclaire’s shop was nearby, so that she could visit her mother more easily.
“Lotan...” suggested Marron, out of the blue.
“Lotan?”
“Just something I heard once, I suppose. I think it means ‘to protect’ in some ancient tongue.”
“Lotan Mocha...? It sounds nice. Even Lotan Glace has a nice sound to it...”
“Lotan and Caritas, then?” Marron asked.
“I like them. And, besides, we have nine months to change our minds...”
