If I Should Fall: The Second Book of Geshichte Falls

He wanted to see this, was sure he’d never see it again. He didn’t know what he was doing, what he was allowing what he was, in fact, instigating, or how they would feel in the morning. In the old chair that was covered by a bed sheet, Nehru watched, Brad, semi on hands and knees, fucking Cody, watched the undulation of his beautiful ass and its soft down of dark hair, the pulsing opening and closing of his thighs as he rode Cody, listened to Cody’s struck cries and Brad’s low satisfied moans. He wanted to see what Brad looked like when he was fucking another man, when he was fucking him, something that, of course, he could before only feel. They were in a place away from time where no one was ashamed, where Nehru could stand up and run his hands over Brad’s ass, caress him, run fingers up the small of his back, rub his shoulders, kiss this man over and over on his dear shoulders. He came around to the front of them no longer able to remember the awkward Catholic school boy who could never take his clothes off in gym class. Brad’s face was indistinct with lust, Cody’s eyes were rolled back while Brad stuffed him, and suddenly Nehru leaned in and took Brad’s head and they kissed and Brad’s tongue went deep into his mouth and the harder he kissed Nehru, the harder he fucked Cody, and then Cody gripped the pillow and moaned deep as the earth.

Brad’s kiss was so strong it actually hurt his tongue to pull away, but Nehru stood up straight and parted from Brad’s mouth the same time he inserted his penis in Cody’s…

They were outside of time, outside of all things. Nehru remembered Cody beginning the poem and Brad continuing it. It was Rumi. In a flash he remembered the other lines from that same poem.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing,

There is a field. I’ll meet you there.

He lay between these two beautiful men, dark and slightly hairy with Mediterranean blood in the their olive bodies, Cody holding him, kissing him up and down lazily, Brad sucking on his lips, thrusting his tongue in his mouth. He can still feel Cody inside of him, the gentle thrusting that, after the snort of poppers became the steady pounding. They move in concert as if it is planned and as they did a while before, Nehru strokes Brad, only, in the darkness of early winter mourning, lit by amber light, now Brad kneels over him as Nehru makes his cock grow. All night, but for the moment he sucked him, he has given himself mostly to Cody and let Brad and Cody have each other because to do what he is about to do is surrender, and he knows there isn’t really any turning back. Deftly, Nehru opens the lube and rubs it inside of him as he has made Brad’s cock glossy with it. Deftly he opens the popper bottle and inhales deeply. The warmth dissolves his solidity and he turns over while Brad murmurs, kissing him, “I have to fuck you.”

And then, as they both groan and Brad, groans, “I… have… to fuck you,” Brad is in him, and he is lying down and being completely penetrated, and Brad’s hands are grasping his hands , Brad’s mouth is hungrily kissing his throat and his ears, the back of his neck over and over, and their bodies are pressed into one and Brad is throbbing in him and Cody moves away to sit in the chair, to get high, to drink, to stroke himself, to watch the surrender, knowing, as the bodies of Brad and Nehru bunch together, tighter and tighter, this moment is for them.  He is not displeased. He is satisfied to watch bodies jouncing on the bed, to see Brad’s long ivory body pound Nehru’s smaller caramel one and know that, even while Brad pounds, he is pounded, even while Nehru surrenders, he wins the victory. Cody is honored, watching his own penis rise higher and fuller, to be witness to it. Everything in this night has led to this moment. There is no quietness on this bed. There is cursing, shouting, sobbing, rejoicing in the creaking bedsprings. Cody is scarcely conscious of his stroking himself as someone almost screams, as bodies bunch, he comes, an arch of semen erupting from his penis, caught golden in amber party lights. As Cody is taken on the edge of orgasm, he sees Brad’s face changed, his kneeling body looking as if he’s been stabbed while he comes outside of Nehru, a steam of jutting life to match Nehru’s own arc. They are moaning together, staggering in the three part miracle, blacking out nearly. Darkness, amber lights, darkness, darkness, relief, delight… night.

The fairy lights on the walls were points against the pale sunlight from Kirkland Street, and in the morning, the apartment was warm. Nehru could smell coffee brewing and he was in Brad’s arms and Brad Long was looking down at him. It felt so good, like that first night when they’d believed they were together before Marissa had told Brad her news, and Nehru looked around the room that still smelled faintly of bud, looked at the evidence of last night, poppers like squat soldiers on the little table beside the bed, the tall lube bottle

“Where’s Cody?” Nehru’s voice was hollow, and his mouth was dry.

“He must have left,” Brad said. “He must have left us to be together.”

Nehru could still feel Brad throbbing inside him. He ached but liked it, ached but needed it, thrilled to be in his arms, felt himself rising, knew before an hour passed, before they were through coffee, the morning would see him riding Brad the way Brad had ridden him.

“We should… call him. Or… something,” Nehru said.

“I will,” Brad assured Nehru. “I will. But he understands. He’s like that. He understands.”

Nehru, turning on his back said, “It’s not right to always think people understand.”

“No,” Brad agreed. “But Cody does. Just like I understand Marissa is talking to Hale now.”

“Hale? Our Hale Weathertop?”

Brad nodded.

“And just like, even if Marissa doesn’t understand how I loved you, she understands my love wasn’t enough for her.”

Nehru nodded his head. It hurt a little, but he didn’t mind. Brad climbed out of bed, and Nehru looked on his body, so long and tall and dark haired, and the darkest hair the triangle where his sex hung. Brad went into the kitchen and Nehru made his way to the bathroom. When Nehru was done, Brad held a cup of coffee out to him and they both went back to the bed.

Nehru could smell the smoke of Brad’s cigarette now.

“And now do you understand?” Brad said.

“What?” Nehru said, sipping, surprised at the goodness of the coffee, its strength and sweetness. He remembered hearing something about how a good lover always knew how to make his beloved a cup of coffee.

“That we are together now, that you are not driving me away. That this is the way it’s going to be from here on out. Do you understand that?”

“But the….”

“Do you understand that?” Brad said again.

Suddenly, the only thing Nehru wanted to do was lean up and kiss Brad’s mouth, to linger over those lips, to look forward to the sex that would happen in this bed. More than that, to sit with him and drink coffee, smoke cigarettes and make new songs forever.

“Yes,” Nehru said to Brad Long, “I understand.”

Here ends If I Should Fall

 

When we return, Bill Dwyer's luck finally runs out, Anigel and Ross go on a pilgrimage, Russell falls deeper into love and makes an unwelcome discovery while Nehru and Brad begin their new life and Gilead Story learns what it is to love. New friends arrive from Saint Alban’s College, old ones return and some will leave this world for good as we conclude the story of Geschichte Falls with

Nights In White Satin