Page 27

S ome questions were better left unvoiced and unanswered.

Alex's relationship with Nejeere was one of them.

Its ambiguity was the header and cripple stud on the wall Timi had erected to keep both he and Alex safe from a looming catastrophe.

Now, in its absence, a gaping hole had appeared, sucking him slowly into disaster.

The safety of their conversations breathed its last the night they hugged and discussed Alex's prowess in bed.

As every night after, he'd had to take cold showers to catch snatches of sleep.

On the second night of Alex's leave, their conversations drifted to the two girlfriends Alex ever had, and how clingy they'd been to a point of obsession.

And Timi, without Alex's unavailability flashing caution signs, asked to know why.

“Sex is spiritual,” Alex replied, the deep rumble of his voice gliding over Timi's skin like a fleeting caress.

“I can't have it if I'm not immensely attracted to you.

Soul first, then body. So, every time we had sex, they knew they were getting everything I could offer them. It's hard to leave such.”

Timi turned to his side, careful to keep silk from brushing against the semi-hardness he'd been battling since Alex, who apparently slept in the nude, called.

“That's…” he started, then cleared off his croak.

“That's so…smoochy. Sex, to me, has always been a shallow reaction to an external stimulation. Nothing more.”

“Hmmm,” Alex's voice came out a purr. “You won't enjoy my favourite style, then.”

“Which is?” Timi croaked.

“Missionary. I love to stare into the eyes of the people I'm fucking.”

The image of a naked Alex, which had become a constant in his subconscious, sprang up, dominating his senses till he could feel him in his bones and taste him on his tongue.

He flipped onto his back, hand settling on the elastic of his pyjamas, resisting the urge to yank it down and release his erection now straining painfully against the softness of silk.

“I'm more of a doggie person,” he said, his voice like that of a frog with the flu. “I mean, the lady doing the bending, and I…” His voice trailed off. Why the fuck was he explaining? Why on earth would Alex think he was the one being bent and—

A soft chuckle caressed his ears. It was the first time hearing Alex laugh, and it was enough to distract him from his humiliation. Low and breathy, he'd never heard a more appealing sound.

“I see,” Alex said. “Well, depending on who you're with, that can be a better position. I just don't fancy it, but I get why you do.”

And he'd wanted Alex to elaborate on what he meant by 'who you're with'.

If by any chance, men were also an option for him.

As there was no denying the mutuality of this thing between them any longer.

It probably didn't feel as unrestrained on Alex's part, but it was there, in his hug, his eyes, his voice, his inability to go a day without calling or texting.

However, Timi couldn't bring himself to ask, because he had no idea what he would do if Alex told him no, or if he could answer the same question if Alex replied in the affirmative.

There were things best left buried and forgotten .

He suffered through the three days of Alex's absence. Taking showers upon showers, unable to take matters into his own hands.

He'd tried once, when he newly arrived in Lagos and his body was still going through withdrawals.

He'd lain on cotton sheets, disgust and desire coursing through him as he wrapped a moist hand around a hardness that sprang from nowhere.

But as he stroked, another hand slowly replaced his.

Rough and calloused. Yanking at it with a careless force, a grotesque face cackling in his ear and panting in a hoarse voice.

“You're a man like me. Get hard. I dare you to get hard.”

He didn't know he'd screamed, until Uncle Jude burst into his bedroom brandishing a slipper, his oversized pyjamas hanging off his thin body.

He scanned the room, and Timi shrank in mortification from everything his eyes absorbed.

An open lotion container, wraps of tissue, a hand still wrapped around his softness.

Uncle Jude didn't say a word. Instead, he turned on the television, lowered the volume, and increased the air-conditioner.

“Images, background noise and cold,” he said. “They'll help you sleep. Get cleaned up and get under the covers.” Then, he closed the door behind him.

Timi dared not touch himself again.

On the first day of training at Jerusha Academy's gym, while conversing with Paulo, his instructor, the double doors opened.

Timi stopped mid-speech, eyes stuck on the tall man walking towards him.

He was clad in brown sport-pants and a green fitted t-shirt, with every squeak of his Addidas Speedex on the tiles echoing the thumps of Timi's heartbeat.

His greedy gaze drank in the elegant fluidity in the synchronised movement of long limbs.

The perfect shoulders-to-waist ratio. The stunning attractiveness in the whole bulk of him .

Alex halted before him, clutching a small basket with its contents wrapped in blue napkins, a ghost of a smile softening his face.

“Hi,” he said.

And Timi stood there, gutted with how badly he'd missed him. Three days of not seeing him, and it seemed like half a lifetime ago.

He was fifteen again, crouching in a bathroom stall, suffocating in his feelings as a memory played repeatedly. Him, skipping along a bush path, happiness and hope swamping him in explosive bursts of euphoria, unaware it was the last time he would ever feel like that again.

What he'd missed was the comfort in his obliviousness. The uncomplicatedness of his ignorance. And Alex's presence offered him that option. A chance to forget everything else and once again experience happiness in its purest form.

To control the idiotic grin splitting his face, he nodded at the basket in Alex's hand. “What's that?”

Alex held it out. “For you. To revive lost strength.”

It contained hot egg rolls and pumpkin bread, with two bottles of fruit and veggie smoothie. And Timi only allowed Alex have a bite when his stomach was well stuffed.

The giddiness Alex's presence brought him, however, came with complications.

The constant reminder of the feel of that hard body against his, and his twitching fingers' inability to coordinate with reason.

He, who avoided skins like the bubonic plague, found himself sitting on his hands whenever Alex was in touching distance.

Whatever he did, Timi's brain interpreted it as a perfect reason for a hug.

He smiled. Hug. He opened his flask. Hug.

He handed over a towel. Hug. He glared at D'Yoyo when he bitched about Timi's fighting skills and deemed them too pretentious and clean for Zik's desperate style of fighting. Hug. Hug. Hug.

But what made it even more torturous was Alex's body seemed to want it too.

Always tilted in Timi's direction. Brushing against him where they sat in the gym stands.

Fingers grazing his skin in accidental touches.

Once, when some stunt guys and fellow actors approached Alex, asking him what fight club he belonged to as they heard he fights, and challenging him to a friendly duel, Timi had levelled a stare at them, saying, “Do not proposition my staff without my approval ever again.” And Alex's eyes had darkened with an emotion that sparked an insane urge within Timi to merge their lips. The world and his fears be damned.

So, in a bid to bring back control to a rapidly deteriorating situation, he cranked up his obnoxiousness. Turning his desires into harmless shenanigans he was already known for.

When Alex brought his water, he tilted back his head and indicated he poured it directly down his throat. “Paulo's too hard on us,” he whined. “No strength left.”

When Alex sat, he stretched his legs over his lap. “They’re numb. I need them elevated.”

When they rested between sessions, he guided Alex's hands to his locks. “Pull them gently. It relieves headaches.”

At first, Alex hesitated, brows drawn in a questioning frown.

His reluctant, but unquestioning obedience thrilled Timi to a point he forgot about his discomfiture.

But a few days later, after a strenuous session that caused Timi to gulp his water messily, without being asked to, Alex reached out a thumb and brushed droplets of water off Timi's chin.

At his stumble, Alex's lips curved in amusement.

And Timi immediately returned to being unnerved.

Control snatched back. Defences gone kaput.

However, there was no turning back. For the four weeks of training, he behaved like an invalid, and Alex indulged him in a quietly determined way.

Also, the shocked stares had gradually reduced till it was no longer an abysmal sight to see a grown man pouting at another man, complaining about his fingers not being pulled hard enough.

And the object of complaint pulling harder or blowing air into the palms he massaged.

Only for the pouting man to go on a heated rant about the rationality behind human dependency, and the massager throwing counter arguments. Lost in their strange world.

When Timi wasn't punching men against walls or improvising with dustbins or discarded wires to disarm his opponents, he rested his aching, sweaty head on Alex's lap, his hand cradled within Alex's larger palm and hidden from sight.

Within those stolen moments of intimacy, he witnessed his world shift from a lone star aimlessly orbiting the earth, to a star hurtling towards its own milky way where a brighter star awaited.

Agu showed up one of the days with his gaggle of MIB clowns. Occupied with completing Oba Hall and putting finishing touches to his studio, he was distracted enough for Timi to have free rein to execute his plan.