The sun is so bright outside, but even through the curtains there's something threatening in its glare.

Hot. It's too hot, too stifling, the window is open but scarcely a breath comes through it. The curtains don't flutter, they hang stiff and still as if made of lead, not feather-light muslin. The past few days have been unusually hot, yet nothing compared to this stagnant heat. The eternal breeze from the sea has made them somehow bearable, pushing at least some air in through the open windows and balcony door. Where is the wind now?

My eyelids are leaden as I squint at the window and slowly comprehend what my body already knows: there's a storm approaching. That's the inky darkness looming right behind the blinding rays, that's what makes the air collapse upon itself, sticky and limp. Only a film of sweat coats my skin but it seems to weigh me down, deep into the mattress and damp sheets.

This must be what a castaway feels when he's tossed on the beach by incoming tide with other debris. To just lie there, tangled in strips of seaweed, brine slowly drying on the skin into a salty crust. Too numb and exhausted to crawl away from the glare of the sun, knowing that the tide has only gone out for a while. It'll return in due time and snatch me back to loll on the waves once more if I don't move soon. But I don't, because there's a certain pull in that thought and it's long since I had anything to fight for.

Drifting with the streams, the winds, the tide... that's what I've been doing all my life, and why not? And yet, for quite some time now I've felt that the flow of life that used to carry me forward has instead been dragging me down, all the time deeper. It's getting harder to stay afloat, to see beyond the next day or perhaps two. Maybe I've soaked in too much filth over the years and am now drowning in it, or with it. I don't know.

Yet now, all of a sudden, there's something that's pushing me up and buoying me once more, even though I can't seem to do anything but cling to it, definitely not lift a finger to help. I can't understand why this is all happening. Oh, I know why I'm here (because I couldn't think of anything else to do but come here), and why he's here (because he's taking all that vacation he's not had for a few years, so he told me), and why we're here in his hotel room (because he asked me to come). But I don't understand any of this, not really.

It's over two weeks ago now that he walked me to the eastern end of the beach to have sex between those cliffs. He's hardly let go of me for many moments since. Despite the heat we're touching all the time, even asleep. His hand holding mine when we walked to get me a change of clothes from my small apartment. His ankle brushing against mine under the table when we're facing each other over a cup of tea in the breakfast room. His hand on the small of my back as he steps slightly aside to let me be the first to enter a restaurant.

His fingers in my hair as he suddenly stops, late at night when we're walking back to the hotel, turns to face me and pulls me closer for a kiss.

His hands gliding on my bare skin, touching me in places dozens of other hands have touched but making me feel like no other hands ever have.

His cock sliding into me, hard and throbbing and so gentle that I cry out at every thrust, never mind that the windows are open and anyone walking past can hear me. Hear a whore being fucked and wanting it and enjoying every moment.

That something hard and painful swells again inside me and I nearly choke as my throat constricts. No. I don't want to think about it. I'm not a whore now, not with Fordan. I know it from the way he looks at me, touches me, talks to me. That's not the way he thinks of me, and that's what matters.

He's sleeping next to me in this bed that is damp not just because of the heat, hair is messy and limp, dark stubble on his jaw. The most gorgeous thing I've ever seen. Is it partly because I can still remember him as a lanky, big-boned teenager, before muscle filled that frame in exactly the right places? I don't know. All I know is that I miss him so much that I'm aching, even now.

His eyebrows crunch a little. He sighs. He'll be waking up soon.

My arms tremble with effort as I quietly roll to one side and push myself up from the bed. Even the stone floor of the room feels warm, but at last the curtains move ever so gently and I pull them aside.

Can't help swallowing as I see the clouds billowing in the sky, a mountain sailing closer by the minute. It's only a question of moments now before its top hides the sun and darkness falls upon us. I see lightning flashes on the sea that is already rough and murky, and hope that all the dozens of fishing boats that venture out every day to supply the city with seafood have made their way safely home by now.

Yes, the wind is rising, I feel its first tentative touch on my naked skin, see how it twines invisible fingers in the branches of trees and shakes them. Warns them to get ready, for it won't be so gentle for long. Soon it will be tearing at them, hurling leaves and twigs around, beating them against walls and roof tiles and windows.

I start when there's a knock on the door, turn around, open my mouth, but Fordan's eyes slit open and he yawns. "Uhh... what's it?"

"Sorry to wake you up, sir." Probably the young guy with that dark brown ponytail, judging by the voice. "But there's quite some storm approaching and we ask you to kindly close the shutters in your room."

"A storm?" The bed creaks as Fordan pushes himself up to sit on the edge. "Right, we'll take care of them. Thanks for the warning."

There's no reply, but I faintly hear the guy knocking at the door to the room next to ours while Fordan stands up and stretches his arms above his head. Just looking at him makes my head dizzy and my mouth dry.

"Hey, Nash, what're you doing there? Surely you weren't trying to sneak away?" He smiles to me, adorable and just a little bit sleepy still, but a flash of something dark lurks in his gaze. Just a couple of steps and his arms wrap around me, snug and strong. The kiss is slow, then he pulls away and frowns at the darkening sky, eyes widening. "Damn, that sure looks like some storm!"

"We'd better take care of those shutters before the wind starts for real," I tell him, even though I wouldn't want to because that means he'll have to let go of me. Fordan nods and squeezes me tighter.

"You're right," he says into my ear, lips so close that it makes me shiver. "Hungry?"

"Not really." I close my eyes. "Too hot and clammy."

"Yeah, me too."

I watch as Fordan goes to the other window, hand rising to pull the curtain aside. "Wear something before you start hanging out of the window, will you?"

"What?" He glances down at himself, then grins sheepishly. "Oops, I forgot."

I pick his boxers from the floor and hand them to him. "Showoff."

Fordan's smile is so warm as he bows to pull the boxers on and looks at me through his straight bangs. It makes me gulp. "I'm with you, Nash, why should I be modest? You know what I look like."

Yes, I know it. Haven't been able to forget a single thing in these years since we parted ways, and now the real Fordan is in front of me, turning around once more. I look at the outlines of muscles in his back as he opens first the curtains, then the window. His spine flexes as he leans out to release the latches that hold the shutters open, reaches further to pull them closed, and the waistline of the boxers slips lower to reveal a stripe of paler skin. His buttocks are not entirely untouched by the sun; I'm sure he's spent some time in that stretch of the beach where nobody blinks at seeing completely nude sunbathers. I watch him as if mesmerized, feel the warmth radiating from his body and somehow it's not oppressive like the heat in the air. It's calling to me.

"Nash..." He freezes for a moment and inhales slowly as I rub my forehead against his back, just between the shoulder blades, then laughs quietly. I feel rather than hear it and it shoots right through me, that low rumble.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be... okay, this one's properly closed now."

I ghost behind as he goes to shutter the other window, then stop at the door when Fordan steps onto the little balcony. He leans against the metal railing, long fingers curling around it, and peers at the sky.

"This is going to be the biggest storm I've ever seen here," he shouts over his shoulder. "Come and see!"

"I'm naked," I tell him and he turns around to lean his butt against the railing.

"Put something on then." Fordan tilts his head back and a cold hand clutches my insides. Of course I know that the railing is wrought iron and sturdy as all hell but it looks so flimsy next to his solid frame, and never mind that this is only second floor, I've just never been good with heights. "Oh, this wind feels good! Come on!"

I back into the room and look around in the dim light, spot my own faded shorts and slip into them. I want to be there, next to him, but can't quite bite back a yelp when Fordan grabs my wrist and pulls me to him. I can practically feel how the iron gives in ever so slightly and have to close my eyes not to feel too dizzy so close, too close to the drop. "Fordan... Fordan, please!"

"Sorry," he whispers and steps towards me so that we're standing in the middle of the small, semicircular slab of concrete that feels rough and reassuring under our feet. "I hope you're not feeling too queasy, but – damn, just look at that sky!"

I do, and he steps to stand behind me so that I can lean back into him. Clouds are wrestling with each other in the sky, and look down at the people in the street below. They're all hurrying along the street, nobody glances up and sees the two of us standing on the balcony in our underwear. The sky is getting darker and darker, the wind is rising; already it's spinning dust and dry trash into little swirls here and there as it squeezes between the buildings. Shutters are closing all around us, kids running home shouting to each other, the city is drawing into itself and preparing to wait out the storm, and I'm watching it. With Fordan. It feels so unreal, or it would if it weren't for Fordan's arms around my waist, one hand closing the other wrist so that his fingers dangle just in front of my crotch, not quite touching me.

"It's going to be magnificent," Fordan sighs under his breath and rubs his jaw against my cheek. "Too bad we can't really watch... and let's hope it won't cause any fires anywhere. But at least it should make the weather more bearable."

I nod, eyelids falling to half-mast, listen to the way my body responds to his warmth and almost chuckle at him. Just like Fordan to admire the coming storm and worry about it in the same breath... of course he would, a civil engineer's used to dealing with the consequences of natural forces. The air is getting clearly cooler now, it's not raining yet but still I can almost feel the touch of water on my skin. It makes me shiver and Fordan's arms tighten around me.

"Are you cold?"

"No. This is good."

"Mm-hmm. We'll need to close the doors soon. And then we could have a cool bath."

Like we've done on so many days already, soaked in the bathtub together, enjoying the water that has brought at least temporary relief in the heat. Fordan likes to hold up a sponge and then squeeze it so that water trickles onto my shoulders and back. The mere thought feels good. The anticipation. "Sounds like a good i– oh fuck!"

We can't see the lightning, but the crash is sudden and loud enough to startle us both. It makes the balcony door rattle and my ears ring, and I feel Fordan shake his head as he pulls me inside.

"Okay, we'd better give in," he says and pulls the wooden outer door shut, then also closes the inner door that's mostly made of glass. "Before there's any damage, that is. How about that bath?"

"Not yet."

I go closer to the window and try to peer out, but of course I can't see anything, just a narrow stripe of light through the crack between the shutters. Too bad; I, too, would really like to see what's happening. I remember how, as a boy, I would sometimes climb up to the attic of the house where I lived with my mother, then snake on my stomach into the low space between the attic ceiling and roof to watch a storm through the ventilation slits. That was frightening and yet thrilling, to feel the roof tiles clattering overhead as rain furiously beat down on them.

I also remember that one storm that we spent outside with Fordan, hiding under one of the equipment shelters built along the beach, cringing at each lightning. And the blissed-out expression on his face as he looked down at me, eyes smoldering and lips parted, while I knelt between his legs and sucked him until he came with a hoarse groan that was drowned by the rolling thunder.

I close my eyes. That was – years ago.

"Come here, Nash!" Fordan has pulled cushions from the wicker armchairs and tossed them on the floor, he's sitting with his back against the bed and pats the flower pattern beside him. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"I am," I say and curl up next to him, let him pull me closer. "Why are we on the floor?"

"Because the bed's too sweaty, and those chairs will collapse if we both sit in the same one." Now he's practically purring, arms winding around me, and I wish I knew how he does it because after a while I'm once again sitting in his lap, legs clasped around his tanned waist, fingers entangled in his hair. Fordan raises his face to look at me, smiling, kisses my chin, I tilt my head back and feel his lips trail down my throat and am grateful because I don't have to see his eyes. I can't take the way he looks at me, so warm and a little bit incredulous, as if he'd found something precious that he's lost...

No, no, stop. I seem to recall hearing that it's okay to dream, but I know better by now. It just makes the reality that much more painful to –

"Goddamnit, that was loud!" Fordan squeezes me tighter, I must've jumped at the sudden roar, and now the rain's starting. Heavy droplets, for a few moments we can still hear their pitter-patter against the walls and shutters but quickly the real torrent reaches us and everything dissolves into one huge hum. This is like standing next to one of those enormous rapids that here and there interrupt the majestic flow of River Czorhass... and why does each and every one of my memories seem to involve Fordan? Is it because those are the times I care to remember? "Hey, I just realized... what day is it today? Friday?"

I frown. Friday? Actually I'm not at all sure, but then... "No, I think it's Thursday. Didn't we see that park concert yesterday, and they do those on Wednesdays. Why?"

"Oh, good," Fordan murmurs into my collarbone. "Just remembered that the ship to Bellar sails on Fridays, and with this weather..."

But I don't hear the rest any more. My whole body has gone totally numb, cold and dead. The ship, one of those sleek and beautiful things that I used to admire in the port. The ship that will carry him home again – when? How long has he already spent here? How long is he staying? How long do I still have to live, before he goes away and I'll have to face the emptiness once more?

I clutch his head to my chest with both arms, bury my face in his dark hair. It's hard to breathe and I will not ask when and how much longer. I don't want to know.

"Remember when we were traveling home together for the first time, and the ship hit that storm just before we reached Saygorr?" I hear the smile in Fordan's voice, feel it against my skin. "You were the only one of us who didn't get seasick at all!"

"I did," I whisper. "But not as much as the rest of you."

"Yeah, you were still able to walk about and even eat something!" He grins and looks up at me again, sighs. "Nash... you'll be coming back with me, won't you?"

Fordan, you're out of your mind.

"I – you can't mean it. I couldn't."

"Why not?" His head tilts a little in challenge. "Do you have anything really pressing to keep you here?"

"No, but –" I just stare, my brain's not willing to work, of course there are many reasons why I can't come with you, but... "There's my apartment. And money, I don't have nearly enough money for the trip, it costs a fortune."

"With me, no it doesn't," he says airily. "Don't forget that I still get the family discount, and all cabins are for two or more people. Including mine."

I know, Fordan. You travel first class at bargain prices because your father was one of the two crazy people to have this harebrained idea to build ships to carry lots of people, not just goods, over the Bay. It was your father and his friend who designed the first real passenger ship and persuaded the shipping company to actually invest in it, and the rest is history. With all the profit that harebrained idea has brought everybody concerned over the years, it's no wonder if the shipping company gladly lets your entire family travel first class for the rest of your lives, and bring some friends along, too. But I simply can't let you do that.

"And your landlord won't have any problems getting your place rented again," Fordan adds, hands gliding up and down my back. Outside, the pouring rain and wind and flashes of lightning and roll of thunder that doesn't seem to really stop at all. Right here, Fordan kissing my shoulder with lips and teeth, the bulge of his sex underneath me growing harder and my body eagerly responding to it. As if we hadn't already been having sex almost nonstop for two weeks, even while walking on the street or sitting in a park or sleeping or just looking at each other. "Please, Nash. Let's go home together."

Home? Don't look at me like that, Fordan. Just please don't, you make words stick to my throat.

"I've missed you, Nash, I was an idiot to ever let you go. Besides, Krisch and Shanti would be no end happy to see you again."

Your adoptive fathers... I miss them as well, a lot. Yours was the only family I really ever had, and what a family. So much caring, so much warmth. When I left, the hardest thing was to look Shanti in the eye and promise to come back, tell him that I'd just look around myself a bit, even though I knew I'd be going for good. He knew it, too, but just told me to take care of myself. I very nearly broke down then, Fordan, when Shanti hugged me tight and I was missing you so fucking much that I hurt all over because you'd been away for months.

"My ship will sail in three weeks," Fordan says under his breath. "And you'll sail with me, Nash, won't you? Say you will. Come home with me."

What for? What would I do there, Fordan? Live with you, work odd jobs like I used to, and watch you gradually drift further away once more when this first delirium evaporates and the pull of all the other things in your life gets stronger again? There's only so much I can give, and I know it won't be enough this time around, either, no matter what you might say now. I'd feel just as awkward and out of place with most of your friends as I did back then, I still wouldn't fit in and that's where the rift will start. Again.

No, I don't want to see it happen a second time. It hurt so fucking much then, it'd just hurt a lot more now. At least I still have three more weeks with you.

"You haven't been happy, Nash, I know it, and I've missed you so goddamn much. I've been dating a whole lot of guys but it just doesn't work out, never does." Fordan combs fingers through my hair, gathers it into a ponytail in his fist and pulls my head back to look at me. "Just give me another chance, and I won't let you down this time."

"Fuck me, Fordan." I close my eyes as he pulls his knees up behind my back and cradles me with his body. "Stop talking and just fuck me."

"No," he breathes into my mouth. "You've been fucked enough. I want to make you feel good."

Fordan... what the hell am I going to do with you?