21
THE MIDNIGHT OIL
Aaron didn’t want a birthday party. Oscar begged him to invite his friends, to have a game night, to go to the movies together, even for a coffee. But Aaron insisted.
“You’re gone for aweekstraight after. I can see my friends that weekend, and we can have them over when you’re back. I just want to spend it all with you,” he said, wrapping his arms around Oscar’s neck. “Is that so bad?”
“That,” Oscar replied, slotting his hands into each other at the small of Aaron’s back, “is not bad at all.”
So on Aaron’s birthday, just three days after a sweet Valentine’s Day of cookies and chocolate and sunflowers, they slept in and spent the rest of the morning tumbling around in Oscar’s bed. It was heaven to taste him, even after so long together, even after so many times. To run his tongue up those bastion walls that kept the warmest parts of Aaron protected was a gift, and Oscar knew this. To feel his hands running through his waves, which had grown out again. To open his legs for Aaron’s mouth.
Oscar leaned back into his pillow as Aaron’s fingers slipped inside him, preparing him for what would come next,his lips and tongue circling the most sensitive spot, sucking and licking and loving him.Maybe they had no foreign languages to learn for one another, but Aaron’s tongue was fluent in Oscar’s pleasure.
“Yes, baby,” Aaron murmured, his voice vibrating through Oscar’s soft shaved skin. “Yes, come for me.”
It was convenient that this was study week for Oscar, but he would have skipped his lectures regardless. Their afternoon was spent in front of the TV, watching episodes ofSchitt’s Creekand the firstLord of the Ringsmovie while Aaron continued to knit the new blanket he was making for their couch.
The trans flag throw lay spread across their bed now, as it had since the beginning of January, Aaron’s pictures scattered in between Oscar’s, his trans flag hanging from their door, because there was always room for two. There had long been jackets around the apartment, pairs of pants, boxer shorts. Now everything was here, living with Oscar’s things, and there were equal parts of them in the washing machine every time, the shower caddy laden with more shampoos, the sink home not only to two toothbrushes, but the shaver Aaron liked to use for his beard, too. The living room wall became a museum of their relationship, snapshots decorating the brick with their memories.
Oscar insisted on dinner, so they went out despite Aaron’s protests and had fancy plates of pasta and glasses of wine. It was cold outside, but they were wearing their winter coats, and Oscar didn’t mind the walk. Even if they lived together now, it was always magic to hold Aaron’s hand and walk down the street together, their shoes scuffing the sidewalk in tandem, fingers fitting in gaps like they had been built to match.
“Thank you for dinner,” Aaron said. “It was a really nice time.”
“Well, yeah. I wanted you to have a special day.” Oscarsqueezed his hand and hoped he understood it meantI love you. “I love you,” Oscar said, just in case.
He rubbed the back of Aaron’s hand with his thumb and spun him, like they were a couple in a young adult movie, falling in love on the street. His entire life, Oscar had wondered what it might be like to have that, whether the lights would look brighter and the flowers bloom bigger. He’d imagined that the music would be louder and the air sweeter. In his head, Oscar had envisioned walking with someone he loved and perceiving the world in a whole new light. He’d never once thought that when it eventually happened for him, the lights, the flowers, and the music would melt away into the background, that anything and everything that wasn’t Aaron would cease to exist. He’d been right about perceiving the world in a whole new light, but in this story, Aaron was both world and light, and Oscar wished to be suspended in his orbit for the rest of his life.
“I liked the gifts, too,” Aaron said, biting down on his lip.
There’d been an argument about it after sex. When Oscar had padded into the room bouncing from one foot to the other from excitement and swinging the bag, Aaron had looked entirely mortified. He’d only had a smattering of working days since he’d moved in and hadn’t been able to pay for anything. Oscar hadn’t meant to overwhelm him, but he’d seen it just sitting there on the mannequin beside the shop, and he’d known it was made for Aaron: a denim jacket that faded from purple to yellow. And then there’d been the bumblebee plushie. Oscar couldn’t resist getting it for him.
“You can wear the jacket in the spring,” Oscar said. “And snuggle Bumblebee while I’m away.”
“I want to wear it every day.” Aaron leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “And his name is Benny, not Bumblebee.”
Oscar would miss him in the morning. They’d never spent longer than a few hours apart, not since they’d made it official,maybe even before then, and now Oscar would be away longer than a week. He’d asked Aaron to come with him, but then Aaron had pointed out that someone should be looking after Luigi, and Oscar knew Aaron was right. Grandma loved his cat, but she left the patio door open, and Oscar didn’t want him to run off. Besides, Lu hated being anywhere other than their own apartment. So Oscar had conceded.
And after a night of sweet tender kisses and soft, warm touches followed by restful sleep with Aaron nestled in his arms, Oscar had to kiss him goodbye at the bus stop.
“It’s only a few days, and we’ll call every day,” Aaron said, kissing him again and again.
The bus hissed, signaling its impatience. Oscar had barely settled on his seat when it began to move. Aaron was a waving blob in the distance when he managed to turn back.
Spikey: Miss you already…P.S. made you Papa’s cookies while you were on the toilet last night.
CowBoy0705: I don’t take that long! Miss you too.
Oscar painted a mental picture of Aaron’s mortification and smiled down at his phone. He began to type when a black box glitched into existence. A laugh breezed out of him when the picture loaded, featuring Aaron’s shocked face.
Spikey: You took your console in with you. It was like an hour, boo. Enjoy the cookies. Love you.
An hour into the bus ride, his phone pinged, informing him that another picture was waiting. Oscar’s eyes fell on the plate of cookies, already missing two, Aaron’s thumb pointing upwards at the edge of the picture.
He missed Papa, missed his thumbs-ups, missed him actually baking in their old kitchen. As Oscar looked out of the window and watched the next city roll by, he wondered what his father would look like now, so many years later. Maybe he’d have white in his hair and more crinkles around his eyes. He’d already had laugh lines—inevitable, maybe, in a man built of joy and warmth.
Spikey: Give Maddie a kiss today and pretend she’s me and you’re Papa, please. Kinda having a Papa day.
Luke SkyRacer: Hey there, chico. I will give her a million. How did Aaron’s birthday go?
