September 19, 2007

Six Months After
By Kara Larson

Hemi sighed. He thrashed around in bed a bit--something he’d picked up from Pai, a restless sleeper if Hemi had ever known any. From the kitchen below, he could hear the soft sounds of Pai’s off-key singing and the crash of pots and pans. Which meant his partner was trying to cook. Again. Not that Hemi didn’t appreciate it, but after the last time--and the last fire--he wasn’t willing to risk the rest of his kitchen. There was still a scorched mark on the ceiling from Pai’s prior attempt at pancakes.

“But the Americans make them thick!” Pai had protested, when Hemi questioned why he was pouring so much batter into the pan.

“Says the authentic Kiwi fruit,” Hemi had replied with a grin. Pai stuck his tongue out, the tongue ended up tangling with Hemi’s, and there was pancake stuck to the ceiling.

His life had been lonely before Pai, there was no doubt about that. It wasn’t just the garden that now bloomed where there had only been bush behind the house. It wasn’t the laughter and music (and noise!) that was heard around the house itself. It wasn’t the loving every night and the passion that only twenty-one year olds showed, even as their thirty-five year old lovers panted to keep up. It was life. There hadn’t been life in his house in fifteen years--not since Papatuanuku, earth mother of the Maori, had cursed his very existence. Six months it had been since Pai broke the curse. Six months since Mr. Karerehe became just plain Hemi again, smooth-skinned and fur-less.

He still hadn’t gotten over running his hands over his cheeks, marveling at the fact that there was no hair there. Aae, he didn’t even have to shave anymore--Papa’s compensation for fifteen years of shedding worse than a dog. And while his hairless face showed the little age lines more than he would’ve liked, it was still a face that surprised and delighted him, every time he looked in the mirror.

The banging downstairs stopped. Hemi could hear footsteps thumping their way up the stairs and down the short hallway.

“Tena koe.” Pai stood in the doorway, looking at him almost shyly. As if Pai Poharama, self-proclaimed tastiest tangata whenua on the West Coast, could ever do shy. Hemi’s partner almost screamed self-confidence (self-obsession) from every pore.

“Making breakfast, eh, tama?” Hemi asked, patting the bed next to him.

“Didn’t burn anything down this time,” Pai muttered as he flopped down next to Hemi.

“Did I accuse you of anything?” He didn’t need to add ‘this time’. To Pai’s credit, they’d only had to call the volunteer fire crew once. In the past six months.

“Not today,” Pai grumbled, with all the martyrdom of youth.

Hemi snaked out an arm, pulling Pai’s body to him, kissing Pai’s sleek dark hair. Pai at least didn’t protest. His hand may have come to rest precariously close--deliberately close--to Hemi’s usual morning erection, but that was nothing new. Pai had all the resilient oversexing of youth, something Hemi envied on more than one occasion.

“Why breakfast?” Hemi asked softly, burying his nose into Pai’s hair.

“Because,” Pai muttered, his hand stroking softly over Hemi’s groan. Hemi tried to resist the urge to grind into that agile, long-fingered palm.

“Because why, tama?” Hemi managed not to moan.

“Not your boy.” Now Pai sounded petulant.

With one swift move, Hemi dragged Pai’s slim body on top of his larger one. He ground his hips into Pai, pleased to find an erection to match his. “You are my boy, my tama, my love,” he whispered in Pai’s ear. With one hand, he quickly freed both their cocks. He thanked Papa and Ranginui that Pai hadn’t changed from his sleep shorts into trous yet.

Pai groaned in response as Hemi rubbed their cocks together. “Six months!”

“Six…months?”

Pai’s hands flailed on Hemi’s arms, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. “Six months…since…” he panted.

Was it six months today? Six months since his Beauty saw more than the Beast outside? He could still feel Pai’s first tentative kiss, those light hands stroking his face… “Pai!”

He came with a shout, Pai following not long after. Their bellies stuck, sticky, to one another. Not that Hemi minded. He was looking forward to six months more of sticky mornings.

“Happy anniversary,” Hemi whispered.

Pai lifted his head up, giving Hemi a loving, if vacant, smile. “Happy anniversary,” his tama whispered back before curling up again.

Hemi sniffed, suddenly aware of the vaguest scent of something burning. “Pai love?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you leave anything on the hob?”