Anthony liked to sleep in a little on the weekends, but the day of the concert he got up at his usual weekday time because the concert was in the afternoon and Mark wanted to get to the campsite and set up before the concert started. Mark had a thermos of coffee ready for him, and they stopped to get more coffee on the drive down to London.
Anthony was surprised by the fact that Mark drove a Jaguar. Mark had mentioned having money - an inventor father, time spent traveling - but it still seemed incongruous with Mark's "bad boy" look, or the life of a musician. Anthony was a bit paranoid about spilling coffee in the car until Mark noticed how tense he was and said, simply, "Relax." That word was like a spell, and Anthony did, in fact, relax. Despite the coffee, he felt sleepy, and Mark had to gently shake him awake when they arrived at the campground.
Since it was the middle of January, their tent and supplies were likely to be safe and undisturbed by both wildlife and other campers - or, more accurately, lack thereof. Anthony was relieved to see it looked like just them at the campsite, for now. He felt irritated with himself for that response, like he wanted to be left alone for a date, and of course this wasn't a date, just two friends spending time together.
Anthony was also relieved that the weather forecast for the weekend looked good. It would be bitterly cold, but it wasn't expected to snow or rain tonight or tomorrow. The ground had gotten a dusting a few days ago that stuck, just enough to make things pretty, not enough to have to shovel or trudge through. The snow made a satisfying crunching sound underneath their boots as they put up the tent, and Anthony found himself wanting to build a snowman for the first time in years, but they had a concert to go to and that was the sort of kid thing Mark would probably find stupid.
Alice Coltrane's music live and in person was like witnessing a miracle. Anthony enjoyed watching her fingers float over the harp, but even more than that he enjoyed what he saw when he closed his eyes, seeing brilliant, vivid colors, seeing skies and seas and forests and mountains and gardens, as if her harp was a doorway to another world. Anthony broke out in gooseflesh under his sweater, and more than once felt his eyes tear up, like her fingers weren't just striking the harp but the core of him, making him feel like a part of him had been missing that he didn't even know was lost, the notes the threads to tug it home.
Mark was visibly shaken too. At the end, Mark stood up to applaud, and Anthony rose with him. Anthony was glad it wasn't just him who was on the verge of tears - he strongly disliked crying in front of other people, especially another man, after having readily cried as a small boy and being teased about it by his peers - but he also felt like giving Mark a hug. He held back, not wanting to make things weird.
Not wanting to get aroused by the proximity of Mark's body. Anthony's face burned as he glanced at Mark, beautiful in the storm of his emotion, and thought about how he'd masturbated about Mark every night this past week, fantasizing about their camping trip turning more intimate. He was trying very hard to keep his feelings in check and not fall in love with Mark, but it was harder to do at moments like this, when Mark was touched by the music in a similar way. It was like they had shared something at least as intimate as sex if not moreso.
Anthony expected that they would just go immediately back to the campsite when the concert was over, but Mark had brought a satchel with him, and inside the satchel were two vinyl records. He pulled Anthony into the meet-and-greet queue, and when it was their turn, they each shook Alice Coltrane's hand - Anthony mumbled compliments, shy and in awe - and Mark produced the albums to ask for her autograph on the sleeve, which delighted her. When the albums were signed, Anthony realized they were two of the same, the album Illuminations, her collaboration with Carlos Santana. Mark grinned and handed one of the two to Anthony. "For you."
Now Anthony had to hug him - just briefly - and Mark chuckled and tousled Anthony's hair.
Anthony was too speechless on the way out of the concert hall, not just that he'd actually met Alice Coltrane, but that Mark had been so thoughtful to give him a record she'd autographed. He felt ready to cry again. He'd been wanting friends his entire life, and he would have been content with just someone to visit occasionally for a couple of hours, the only gift being of time spent. This was incredibly generous... and thoughtful. He had made a true friend; a good friend.
A friendship I can't fuck up with feelings. Anthony swallowed hard, trying not to be obvious about ogling Mark as Mark started the car and began backing out of the parking space.
When they returned to the campground, it was just before sunset, and the air had that golden haze to it that Anthony loved. Rather than going directly to their tent, they took a walk around to admire the way the snow-frosted trees caught the light. Then Anthony heard himself make an undignified happy noise.
"Swans!"
Mute swans did not migrate for the winter, and the campground was by a lake. Anthony's hand immediately slapped over his mouth, realizing he'd made an idiot of himself with his exuberance over swans. He felt a flood of relief when Mark patted his shoulder, laughing.
"I'm such a muppet. Sorry." Anthony's face was on fire, and his body tingled from Mark's touch.
"Not at all. It's refreshing to see someone take such joy in the beauty of the world. Sometimes I feel like most people go through life with a sort of filter, like they don't really notice things, they're just existing, not living." Mark smiled. "And your reaction to the swans... reminded me of one of my uncles. He loved swans."
"I really love swans. When I finish school and get a place of my own, I think I want to live by the Thames riverfront so I can see the swans." Anthony felt like an idiot again, babbling about swans. "Sorry -"
"Stop apologizing."
"Sorry."
It came out before Anthony could stop himself. He wanted to bury himself in the snow.
Mark stooped down, and before Anthony could ask him what he was doing, he was hit in the shoulder with a small, golf-ball-size snowball. Mark stood up and gave him a stern look, though his eyes were laughing.
"Yeah?" Anthony dropped down, rolled up two snowballs, and flung them. Mark dodged out of the way, snickering.
Anthony rolled another snowball. Mark got down on his knees in the snow - a comical sight, with how tall he was - and also built a snowball. They continued throwing snowballs at each other, some missed, some struck chests and shoulders and one even got Mark in the chin. The sun began to set, painting the snow with fiery colors, and when they were all laughed out from the snowball fight, they paused a moment to watch the setting sun together. Anthony really, really wanted to kiss him, again, but held that urge back. He's probably not gay. And he knew that coming onto someone who wasn't was dangerous. They were out here in a nature preserve all alone; he didn't want to end up dead, or beaten just shy of that.
Mark had a cooler of supplies, and he put kebabs on a grill - beef with mushrooms, tomatoes, and peppers. There was a side of hummus, with pita for dipping. When dinner was ready they sat out in the twilight, watching the stars rise one by one. They weren't far enough away from London to see a clear night sky, but there were still more stars out here than Anthony was used to, and it made him sigh with contentment.
Anthony had brought texts from his linguistics class - he didn't have homework that needed to be finished right away, he had a couple of weeks yet - but he still tried to be studious. Yet out here, he felt like his mind was buzzing, almost like there was a wild energy in the land around them, and he couldn't concentrate. Mark had brought his acoustic guitar, and he entertained Anthony by playing, a combination of oldies and popular songs - including Oasis covers - and original compositions. Anthony was mesmerized. He found himself even more captivated than he'd been during Alice Coltrane's concert, and felt almost like he was committing heresy for feeling that way.
Losing himself in Mark's song, the hours passed all too quickly; it got late, and Mark said, "We should get some sleep."
"All right."
Mark glanced over at Anthony's thermal sleeping bag and the fleece blankets they'd packed. "Are you gonna be warm enough?"
"I think so."
But he wasn't, really. He was used to camping in the summer; this was his first experience with winter camping. The tent didn't provide a lot of insulation, it was almost as good as being exposed. Anthony lay there awake, shivering... internally berating himself for being cold like this. If you weren't so skinny, you'd be less cold. If you were tougher, you would be less cold. But all the willpower in the world could not make him warm up.
And finally, Mark said, "Anthony, I can hear you shivering."
Anthony's eyebrows went up at that - his teeth weren't yet chattering, and he didn't realize he was making that much noise. Unless Mark had super-sensitive hearing; that was maybe not surprising for such a talented musician, but it felt a little weird just the same.
Mark sat up.
Anthony felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up -"
Mark simply reached over, pulled down Anthony's blankets, and zipped open his sleeping bag.
"What..." Anthony's heart raced. For a brief instant he worried that Mark was going to call the whole thing off and drive them both back to Cambridge and never speak to him again, annoyed with being kept awake, but in the glow of the battery-powered nightlight their eyes met and Mark gave him a sympathetic smile.
"I'm going to zip our two bags together and we can share that and our blankets. That should be warmer." Mark's eyes narrowed. "If that's all right with you."
"I... yeah, that's... that's OK." Anthony's heart had been slowing down a little at Mark's smile, and realizing Mark wasn't angry with him, but then it sped up again, his mouth suddenly dry. I'm going to be sleeping next to Mark. And he's OK with that. He suggested it.
Anthony kicked himself internally. Doesn't mean anything. Definitely doesn't mean he's gay.
Anthony got out of his sleeping bag, and watched as Mark zipped the sleeping bags together. After Anthony crawled next to him, bringing his pillows, Mark covered them up. It was warmer with Mark next to him, under more blankets. If anything, now it was almost a little too warm.
They lay on their sides, facing each other. "Sleep well," Mark said and closed his eyes.
For a moment Anthony studied Mark in the blue glow of the nightlight, the flood of hair, the lovely chiseled face, the thick eyebrows, the long lashes. Mark looked like a statue brought to life... or something out of myth or legend, almost too beautiful to be human. Anthony resisted the urge to touch Mark's hair. He closed his eyes to make himself look away, and reflected on Mark's guitar, Alice Coltrane's harp, the colors, the light. In his mind's eye he saw swans, a garden by the sea, Mark there with him, looking out to sea longingly. In that inner place of peace, Anthony drifted off to sleep.
Anthony woke up to daylight streaming in... and the comforting feel of a strong, solid body against his. He was snuggled into a shoulder, and he was hard, aching. Instinctively, he thrust against the thigh of the body next to him, rubbed a little, like a horny dog.
Then he woke up with the realization that it was Mark, and he'd just grinded up on Mark's thigh.
"Oh god." Anthony sat up with a start. Mark's eyes were open now too. "Oh shit. Oh fuck." I'm dead. I'm so fucking dead. I'm going to be in the newspaper, stabbed to death. "I'm sorry. I..."
Mark just chuckled. "We're both guys here. You woke up with morning wood. It happens."
"Fuck, god, I'm sorry. I... I'm gonna go piss."
It was so cold outside that any residual lustful thoughts Anthony had as he turned the snow yellow were far away, his cock shrinking in the burning-ice air.
Mark grilled them sausages for breakfast, and a few bites into his first sausage Anthony's brain made the connection, once again mortified that he'd rubbed against Mark like that, and he facepalmed. But Mark just ate like nothing had happened. That was a relief - Anthony had been suicidal before, but he really didn't want to die now, least of all like this - and yet part of Anthony wanted Mark to acknowledge it in some way.
On the way back, Mark put a CD of Illuminations in the car stereo. Anthony found himself taking the autographed record out of his backpack and staring at it, not able to believe he'd met Alice Coltrane and gotten her autograph.
"I'll have to get a record player now. And start building a vinyl collection." Anthony narrowed his eyes. "You're a horrible enabler."
"Good. Well, if you're serious about collecting records, I know where the good record shops are. I can take you." Mark flashed him a grin.
He wants to spend more time with me. Anthony's heart skipped a beat. "I'd like that."
Mark's grin got bigger, then he got a little more serious as his focus returned to the road.
Anthony felt a touch of anxiety then - while he was thrilled at the possibility of going to record stores with Mark, and maybe even more concerts, more camping trips, this was his first real friendship, he'd been seen as an annoying pest the previous times he'd tried to make friends, and he worried about whether or not Mark genuinely wanted to hang around with him, or if he just felt sorry for the boy who'd lost his uncle and wanted to feel like a good person who did something charitable. He craved friendship, but he didn't want anyone's pity. He decided to voice some of his concern aloud, in an indirect, non-confrontational way. "You... don't mind spending time with me? You don't think I'm some stupid kid?"
Mark laughed softly, then he saw the look of concern on Anthony's face and gave a concerned look of his own. "If I didn't like spending time with you, I wouldn't have offered to take you to the concert, or camping. I'm picky about what I do with my free time, and that also means who I spend it with. When I tell you that I enjoy your company, I really mean that. I'm not just being polite."
"OK. I'll take your word for it." Or I'll try to. Anthony fought back a sigh, wishing he weren't so insecure, overanalyzing everything to death.
"As far as you being 'some stupid kid'... I like having a little buddy. It's nice to see the world through the eyes of someone just discovering it."
"Oh." Anthony didn't know what to say to that; he bit his lower lip. As much as it touched him to hear Mark valuing his friendship, the words little buddy stuck with him, hitting that ache in his heart that was secretly hoping for more. Of course he just thinks of you as a friend. He's probably not gay.
"It's nice to have someone to explore the world with. Reminds me of one of my favorite poems." Mark cleared his throat and recited from memory.
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going, North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,
Arm'd and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking,
on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
Anthony let out a low whistle, impressed that Mark had memorized all that. A chill went through him at the powerful words... and a frisson. Sleeping, loving. That sounded vaguely homoerotic, or "kinda gay" as boys his age were wont to tease. But surely...
"Walt Whitman," Mark said.
"Ah. I haven't read his work." Anthony felt like an uneducated philistine.
"You should." Then Mark went on, "See, you appreciate things like old music, old poetry. You think about things. You feel deeply. Sometimes it's hard to believe you're only eighteen."
"I'll be nineteen in two weeks, on the fourth." Then Anthony kicked himself internally again. Idiot. He reminded himself of when he was six and informed his mother's friends, "I'm six and a half right now," as if that mattered.
"I didn't know when your birthday was. I didn't want to ask, I'd feel like I was prying." Mark glanced back over at him. "We'll have to get together for your birthday."
"Oh god, I wasn't... fishing. I wasn't trying to hint at gifts or anything -"
"I know." Mark looked back at the road. "But you're my friend. I'd like to do something nice for my friend for his birthday. Is that all right?"
"Yes." Anthony felt like his heart could burst out of his chest. Only his parents, and his uncle and partner when they were alive, cared about his birthday. He was actually going to spend a birthday with a friend.
Before Anthony could ask Mark when his birthday was, Mark continued, "Anyway, what I was getting at is... you're mature for your age."
"I take my schooling seriously."
"I've noticed. It's not just that, though, or what you're into. Most guys your age are perving over what chick they'd like to bang. You don't do that." Mark looked back at him. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Anthony couldn't help the explosive laughter that came out of him - that was like asking him if he was from Neptune - and then he calmed right down, knowing that could be taken a certain way, and he wasn't sure he wanted the conversation to go in that direction. "No. I don't."
But then, of course, Mark had to take it there. "Boyfriend?"
Anthony was so taken aback by the point-blank question, that hit a little too close to the truth, that he didn't answer right away. "No." Fuck. That pause was just a bit too long, and he hoped Mark didn't catch it.
He did. "Anthony... forgive me for asking this, but... are you gay?"
Anthony froze. He felt like a rabbit trapped in headlights. Then he felt the urge to bolt out of the car, run right into the highway, get away, take the risk of getting run over because at least big, muscular Mark wouldn't kill him.
Mark quickly followed up with, "It's OK to tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone, and I won't judge you." Mark's lips quirked. "I love Elton John and he's gay."
Anthony exhaled, and just nodded. "Yes. I'm gay." It was the first time he'd said the sentence out loud to anyone. He knew Nigel and Steve figured it out, but they'd never had "the talk".
There was a long, long, long pause, much longer than Anthony's pause when he'd been asked if he had a boyfriend, and Anthony hoped this wasn't a "gotcha", tricked into outing himself and paying the price. But their eyes met before Mark looked at the road again, and Mark nodded too. "I don't like labels, but I suppose you could call me bisexual."
"You..." Anthony couldn't believe it. "You... like men?"
"I lean more towards men, yes, though I've gone both ways over the years. So now you know... I accept you. When I said I wasn't going to judge you, I mean that."
"Thanks." Anthony bit his lower lip again.
They were quiet for the rest of the drive home. Anthony couldn't believe it - Mark wasn't gay, but he wasn't straight, either, and somehow, that admission was a game changer. Anthony thought about asking Mark where they stood - if Mark was interested - but the "little buddy" comment rode up on him again and, despite Mark's speech about Anthony being mature for his age, Anthony wasn't convinced that Mark thought of him as anything than a friend, and he didn't want to nuke their friendship by mentioning he had a crush, if it wasn't reciprocated. So he held his peace.
But the thought of Mark making love to other men still drove him wild and when he got back to his dorm, he had to jerk off right away. He felt ridiculous, ashamed of himself, not wanting to get his hopes up. Yet, even if he couldn't hope, he could dream, and he dreamt of Mark that night, sailing on a swan boat with him into golden light.
chapter 5 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index