Black stands and watches the scene unfold before him.
The man steps forwards, clearly their leader – Black had always liked someone more dominant, someone who would take control – and begins his speech. His voice is loud, booming; it fills the air around the plaza with a thick, almost opaque quality.
"My name is Ghetsis. I am here representing Team Plasma."
Ghetsis. That name will remain in Black's memory forever. Never before has he met someone with so much poise, so much self-confidence. Yes, he is older, much older, (much experienced – a quiet voice at the back of his mind whispers. It seems to be getting louder by the second) but there is something so attractive about his well-lined face, that boasts of his clear superiority while his mouth spins a web of – liberation, or something; Black pays little attention to the words, but the face makes him feel like, if only for a moment, he could be just as pure and powerful and perfect as this man.
He emits an aura of raw sexuality, Black thinks, and finds himself blushing to admit the feelings that are stirring inside him. Black isn't gay, or at least, he has never considered himself to be gay, but Ghetsis interests him in a way that countless naked women in glossy magazines have failed to do. Surely everyone else in the crowd could sense it; Ghetsis could turn even the straightest straight man, if only for him alone. And all the lesbians, too.
Ghetsis leaves. Later, when the night it at its darkest, Black finds himself unable to sleep and so aimlessly wanders the streets of Accumula. He doesn't suffer the cold, but still shivers: he can feel the presence of another, now pressing against his back. In his ear a voice, full of lust, whispers:
"Grab your coat. You've pulled."
And Black is wrapped inside a robe. From within its ruffled recesses he feels a sudden lurch in his stomach as he is pulled off his feet. Once freed from its obscurity he sees, by the dim moonlight, the object of his desire holding him gently against the chimney of a roof.
"Ghetsis... You can fly?" he mumbles, through the confusion, when the words have found their way into his mouth from his astonished brain. "I – er –My name's Black-"
"Shut up and kiss me, fool."
The two share one passionate moment that lasts for an aeon, and then, ignoring the complaints of the other, Ghetsis pulls away.
"No," he says, through clenched teeth. "This isn't good enough."
He wraps the younger man in his arms again, and leaps upwards, bounding towards the open sky. The stars are his footholds, the clouds his stepping stones; he does not rest until he reaches the shining golden sphere that is the moon and releases his passenger onto her cratered face.
They lock gazes: Black stares into the older man's single red eye, that experienced eye, now filled with an uncontrollable desire that consumes the both of them. Ghetsis whips Black's hat from his head and thrusts it away, to tumble into space, where the microbial species colonising it would later flourish into a thriving alien civilisation - the spiritual children of their forbidden love. They kiss again.
Ghetsis reaches down and scoops up a handful of cheese from the moon's surface – an image of Black's large-breasted (the detail seems irrelevant now) astronomy teacher flits across his mind, telling him that yes, the Earth's moon was in fact created when astronauts, launched into space for the first time, allowed the milk of the great celestial sheep to curdle (as discovered by the retro-scientologists of 2094) - and now, his long green locks wavering in the space-breeze, Ghetsis presses the cheese into Black's lips. It is soft, like feta.
"Is this why they call you Gaycheese?" Black wonders, still savouring the lingering taste on his tongue.
Ghetsis nods, wordlessly, and they pull each other into a tight embrace. Black sighs. They kiss, for the third and final time.
And then they had sex. THE END.